on uncertainty and the big pause

The last two years have been a Masterclass in Uncertainty.

First, two years of a global pandemic.

Second, a cross continental move that I naively labeled an “Adventure Year!”.  (I look back at Just-About-to-Move June 2021 Ty and I laugh. She had no idea what was about to transpire).

Now that I am nearly on the other side of it, I feel as though the early pandemic era was training me for this year away in Boston.

The world has returned to "normal" (which I find a little annoying, I truly thought we would have collectively elevated ourselves but that is a topic for another day).

While the world starts to come alive again, I still feel on pause and uncertain as I flow through this kind of bizarre year long experience.

The Big Pause.

A close friend, in a vein of genuine concern, during one of my particularly emo calls with her, called my year a Pause. She made an incredibly compelling argument as she depicted my own life back to me. Because it was on FaceTime, I got to see my own jaw drop in horror as everything she said seemed to ring so true but so abhorrently wrong at the same time.

After the call, the word “pause” rattled in my brain for a while. I’d shake my head, attempting to free myself of it, but there it was, bonking around in my mind. Omni present. Did it strike a nerve because I desperately wanted this time to be the opposite of paused? Did it strike a nerve because I felt like I was moving forward faster than anyone else I knew? Or did it strike a nerve because it was true?

This year of self-development, learning, investing in myself, and growing... was it really just a pause? While my partner was accelerating his professional success, was mine just on ice?

The answer is nuanced. Yes, certain things are on ice. Like the traditional way of working like I had been for fifteen years. On ice, ice, baby. At first it was a relief. I almost heard the hiss as I set my fast-paced career in the ice bucket. A few months in though, after the novelty of being “temporarily retired” wore off, I really had to confront my relationship with productivity in terms of self worth.

Some other elements of my life though, either faded or flourished.

Here's what I mean:

For example, relationships. I am the kind of person who likes to be surrounded by other people; connection is one of my core values. This year tested that. Some peripheral friendships didn't quite survive the move.

Author Luvvie Jones helped reframe friendship for me this year. Essentially, she gives huge weight to the term “friend”. Jones teaches that to call someone a true friend means that you are responsible for their care, and they are responsible for yours. She also preaches that healthy reciprocal friendships act like a charging station for the soul. Think about it.

Because of our huge move, and the (initial) short term length of it, gone were the days where I could just pop over for drinks with a friend, get our nails done together, go to yoga and brunch, or (because I had such a social career) tend to my social-butterfly soul for eight solid hours a day by simply being where I had to be.

I watched as the relationships that I truly needed and valued, not only survived, but absolutely and positively FLOURISHED. They levelled UP. God, I saw which relationships were crucially important and soul serving.

Through trial and error, I learned who was willing to reciprocate. “Invest in those who invest in you…” became a mantra on the lonelier days. I learned which foundations were solid. The best part? Although it was nearly 99% reliant on technology, I surprised myself because these relationships did not feel like work. They felt like the opposite of work. They felt like exactly what I needed and what I wanted to offer. They felt flowy. My guiding word for 2022 is “ease”. They felt easeful.

They felt like morning hugs in the form of voice notes. They felt like "thinking of you's" in the form of random midday calls. They felt like international postcards, surprise gourmet cookies, thousands upon thousands of texts, photos of "what do you think of these shoes?", and less trivially, they felt like supporting each other wade through current events. They felt like holding space for breakups and quitting jobs, getting into dream schools and supporting each other through small things and big things. They felt like flower deliveries and sharing favourite books. They felt like tracking numbers and memes. They felt like sharing playlists and experiencing the same feelings hundreds of thousands of miles apart. They felt like spontaneously recommending cleaning products because one of us spilled while on FaceTime. They felt like off-the-grid weekends away with the best of the best. They felt like downloading what we can only assume is a children’s game app and all virtually playing it together. They felt like intentional and present conversations, and they felt like love.

By honing in and editing out, I also made space for new friendships to form and blossom. When we first moved here, the only regular face I saw was my middle-aged old school Irish Bostonian UPS guy, Paulie. Thanks to my shopping problem, he was around regularly. I sometimes had a cold bubbly water waiting for him in exchange for a Sephora box. To my friends back home, I jokingly called him my Boston BFF and I even cried when I gave him a Christmas gift and told him what his kindness and our weekly chats meant to me. Jesus. While I still cherish my chats with Paulie, I’ve got a select number of cool humans in Boston who I deem to be a friend.

The next thing that did not pause but indeed flourished, was my learning and education. I recently tallied how many online courses I have enrolled in and it's a little shocking. My In Progress File is thick.

My tool belt is overflowing, to the point where it might be wise to call in The Home Edit gals and create a system to edit it back (imagine Clea and Joanna labelling my proverbial academic junk drawer with raised eyebrows).

I am signing up for anything and everything that I have ever wanted to learn, things that regular life asked me to put aside over the last decade. I procrastinate my toughest assignments in my formal courses by attending one-off workshops in subjects totally unrelated. I rebel and cope with the frustration of teaching myself how to properly use an architectural scale by doing a four-day deep dive into natal charts. If one book starts to blow my mind a little too much, I set it down for a couple days to inhale another book, and then back around I go. It’s cyclical.

So here we are, my self-development year coming to an end. For the last year, we had one relatively clear path and in the last few months we have been presented with another. That's where the learnings from The Masterclass in Uncertainty come in. The difference between being uncertain at the beginning of the pandemic, and the uncertain limbo I find our little family in now, is that I do not feel held by the solace of "we are all in this together" with the rest of the world anymore. This Uncertainty feels like a custom-tailored lesson from some kind of Cosmic Deity Atelier. It has been carefully measured, marked, and cut for us. We just have to get used to wearing it.

I am learning to relinquish the illusion of control (keyword learning – if by some miracle I ever master it, I will be sure to let you know).

So, to summarize whatever this was, someone recently asked me how things were going, and I told them, “Good! Just can't wait to read the next chapter of my own dang life.”

Will the things on ice be set out to defrost?

Will the new tools in my tool belt be put to good use?

We will have to read on to find out.

In present and hopeful uncertainty,

ty