Enduring

There’s a commercial in the Portland Metro that has been running for a few weeks (yes, we still watch live TV – mostly football).  It features a young teacher in a classroom talking about things we can all do to help keep kids in school this winter.  She’s wearing a mask and talking about distancing and hand washing and face coverings.  All the regular stuff.

But what caught my attention was how the commercial starts.  She commiserates that we are all tired and gives our collective exhaustion its name:  Pandemic Fatigue. 

Then this morning’s news included an interview with a local psychologist giving tips about how to stay sane-ish as we get ready to enter Year 3 of this Covid nonsense.  She suggested things like going slower, not trying to control things, going easy on yourself, and finding ways to safely socialize (like chatting with a friend on the phone while you both take walks in separate locations).

Apparently, we are at that point in Covidom where it’s deemed helpful to be told that it is totally normal and possibly universal to be utterly, completely depleted. And raw.  And fried.

I admit, it does help.

I haven’t gotten Covid yet.  I feel like it’s only a matter of time, though, with Omicron so ridiculously contagious.  I have once again lost count of how many people I know who currently are or have recently been sick.  Gratefully, none have died or needed hospital attention this time around.  But even super careful friends, vigilant mask wearers, and those with three entries on their vaccination cards have gotten Covid in the last month.  Unless I barricade myself inside Woodhaven like it’s March 2020…which brings its own set of concerns…chances seem likely I will be initiated eventually.

But having made it this long without a positive test has come at a price.  I have been ninja-stepping through life for two years, and I am exhausted.  Nothing seems particularly predictable – how much sleep I will get each night, how hungry I might be, how exposed my emotions are, if I will be motivated to finally clean that closet, if I will be optimistic about the future or just sort of meh.  Fatigue indeed.

I recently realized that I have been tightly holding onto as many things as I can figuratively grab because I want to control something…anything…since Covid is so uncontrollable.  That tight grip is draining, both physically and mentally.  The stress and anxiety of trying to control the uncontrollable have been gradually mounting and taking a toll on me.  This awareness alone has brought some much needed relief as I am slowly releasing and letting things be.

And then a couple days ago, I had a Divine conversation in which I was given the word “endure.”   According to Google, endure means “to suffer (something painful or difficult) patiently.”  Endure acknowledges this stuff is HARD.  It also suggests that I can not control it. And there’s an implication of waiting, connoting that this challenging season is not permanent.  Thank God.

And so, instead of playing Hot Lava around the floor of life, trying to deflect invisible microbes like Wonder Woman, I am loosening my grip.  I am slowing down.  I am letting things be.  I am giving myself permission not to thrive every day.  I am waiting.  I am enduring.