Day 49: On Hope, Part 4

One last entry here, on the topic of hope.

Last night I did yin yoga at home. 

I put it on my calendar, blocked off time and, finally, after weeks of intentions, did it. 

And it felt amazing. I basically zoned out as soon as I settled into the first shape.  My body seized the opportunity—the first in quite a while—to just rest. To fully disengage. To exit the fight or flight response it spends most days stuck in. 

After putting on my comfy clothes, getting out all the blocks and blankets and bolsters and putting myself in that first heart bench, my body thanked me and immediately shut down, losing awareness of all light, sound and stimulation.

It's as though, by getting out all the props, putting on the soothing music and yoga video, adding an extra blanket and eye pillow, and making a bit of a fuss about relaxation, I send my body, mind and parasympathetic nervous system the signal that things truly are all right. That I am well and safe. 

“It’s okay,” I tell myself in actions instead of words, “It really is okay to relax and let go, even if only for a few moments.” 

For this hour, let the world go on without me.

Let me let go of the constant vigilance, the incessant stress, the planning, the thinking, the worrying, the scheming, the ever-present scanning for threats. 

Because our mind does this by default: scans for threats, even far away in time and space, and attempts to neutralize them. 

But here's the thing: we no longer live in environments where we will face an imminent need to evade a tiger—no matter what our evolutionary systems are designed for. So, paradoxically, when we do face threats (in this case invisible and viral, or as with climate change, invisible and with delayed consequences) our nervous system responds in evolutionarily logical but currently maladaptive and misaligned ways. 

Our heightened level of awareness and knowledge of this novel threat floods our bodies with hormones like adrenalin and cortisol, designed to facilitate our fight or flight response. This has us all juiced up enough to run for our lives or wrestle a bear, but all we can only use that energy to read the news or scroll social media. So, we stew in our own juices, maintain chronically elevated stress levels, stay in a constant state of fight or flight it response—and still have only an invisible enemy to fight. 

We end up exhausted, edgy and overwhelmed by conflicting information, when ironically, what we really need to successfully navigate these difficult and seemingly interminable threats is a healthy immune system, an ability to think logically and calculate risks, and clear, concise information on which to base our decisions (No thanks to you, CDC.)

Actually, just writing about this, I my heart is beating faster and I my breathing rate has increased along with my physiological of level of concern.

So, after yoga last night, I turned off my phone and computer, and took a digital detox for the past 24 hours.

Taking my extreme tiredness as a sign my body has been waiting for to chill out and take a rest already, I slept in late this morning and skipped my workout. 

And aside from watching the much anticipated Season 2 premiere of Secrets of Sulphur Springs with the whole family last night on Disney channel (a practice delightfully called co-vewing by the American Academy of Pediatrics and recommended as a positive screen-time strategy, but which I think is just a fancy name for watching TV with your kids), I haven’t looked at a screen a 24 hours. 

I feel more sane, better rested, and much more hopeful. Also, Jesse assures me the black circles under my eyes look less pronounced than yesterday. Ha. 

Moving forward, I aim to add a screen fast (or at least an internet fast, if I have to write on my laptop via Apple Pages on some Saturdays, so be it!) for one day per week. From Friday afternoon when I do yin yoga to Saturday afternoon, which oh, so, conveniently, happens to be shabbat, I need to disconnect and focus on resting if I want to make it out of this school year. 

Also, I will stop following the news and severely curtail my social media time. The surge appears to be leveling or even coming down; my specific school seems extremely unlikely to go virtual; and, even as the surge wreaks havoc on hospitals, the only way I can help that is keeping myself, my children and my students as healthy as possible (all of which will probably be easier if I get off the web and get more sleep). 

I upgraded our masks and we now require our children to mask when playing indoors with friends, but if their friends’ families agree, we will continue to host playdates at this point—knowing how heartbroken our children would feel to lose them. 

Plus, the kids our children play with for fun already share exposure regularly in class and at school. 

So, what makes me feel most hopeful right now?

First, getting enough sleep. Next, letting go of my need to keep up with the world. Also, scheduling yoga for myself on Mondays and Fridays, on the actual calendar, as if I had some place to go other than my mat upstairs in my bedroom.  

But right now, my family makes me feel the most hopeful. 

Our relationships and our shared connections. Our conversations and laughter, pretty frequent, all things considered. 

Jesse and I continue to growing in our mutual love, respect and appreciation each year, week, and day. 

And my children continue to grown into just such wonderful, passionate, interested and interesting people. They are learning how to take care of themselves and our family. 

Yesterday, before the exciting debut of Secrets of Sulphur Springs, Sarah cooked for everyone. And last week, when Jesse and I both collapsed in bed from stress and exhaustion, Rebecca made a beautiful dinner for the whole family and had everything ready by 5 pm, just in time for the Sulphur Springs marathon of Season 1. 

They are wonderful friends—to others and sometimes to each other—and despite all the crazy shit life has thrown at them in their not-so-many years, they have adapted and come out stronger, more empathetic, more creative, more engaged and more confident. 

And that blows my mind. 

I would not wish this time or these trials on anyone, especially the youngest among us who are still learning and still so impressionable. But, I don’t pity our children. 

No, I have nothing but hope for them as I see them navigate life here and now, on its own terms—and on their own terms, too.