This summer Jay shared a song with his sister and me. It's called Freeze by Kygo. The lyrics say
"I'm watching a star,
million light years away.
I wish I could pause,
and hit replay. '
Cause summers go so fast.
Darlin' can we freeze."
I'll listen to it every day.
Here is my summer playlist this year, a collection I found to get me through, or to let me cry.
Hope you enjoy it.
What is getting you through? Or letting you cry? Or lifting you up?
We've all been hit by waves these last few years. Those kind that knock us to the ground and toss us to and fro. I remember being little, jumping in the "rollies" with my cousins. We could handle that. It was fun. But then that one wave that you had to dive under really quick but it still caught you and threw you and you ended up with water in your nose and all discombobulated and you weren't sure you could hear or see or breathe. You had to go sit down and recover from the shock. Your mother would wrap you in a big sun-warmed beach towel and get you settled. It took a bit to catch your breath again. I'm feeling that way. From health to policing, to heat and politics, everyone is getting hit by these shock waves. The thing is these shock waves linger. We can't escape their after effects. It has felt like a wave machine, one after the other coming at us. And I didn't even mention the war in Ukraine. I have tried to give up the news. Too many shocks, too many waves that have us unbuoyed and out to sea and looking for land. How are we going to catch our breath again?
The other night I had a conversation with a friend who is a speech therapist. She talked about all the kids have lost over these last few years - the thousands of conversations that didn't happen because they couldn't talk! She shared how selective mutism is on the rise. Their brains are hard-wired differently than before. As we teachers get ready for this school year we have to recognize and account for all that loss. What a shock! How are we going to help these kids catch their breath?
Earlier in the summer, I was in a professional development workshop with a psychologist. She shared how in a normal situation, one who is suffering a loss can rely on someone who is not suffering to help them through. I'm definitely not describing it as well as she did, but basically, one who is grounded and regulated is helping offer support to someone who is dysregulated and then the suffering person can regulate against that. Mothers do this with children, teachers do this with their students. But right now, we are all struggling to find that normalcy, to get back to regulation. We are all in the waves together. How do we get out of this?
I can remember times in my life when I didn't know how I was going to get through, the death of my brother, the loss of a job, the lows of a child's depression. Then suddenly, when I thought I was at the bottom, a wave of peace that settled in me brought me back to my grounded state. Once it happened with a group of people who surrounded me and filled me with love. Once it happened when a friend who really understood stood by me and stood up for me. Once it happened when I just looked into my child's eyes and saw the light again.
We aren't done with the shocks. And the aftershocks seem to last forever. I looked up how long the shocks last after an earthquake. It can go on for years. I know I'm mixing metaphors, but these waves or earthquakes or whatever you want to call them are real. How will we recover? How will we get back to that gently regulated state? For me now, the answer is in these gentle waves. They don't pick up all the seaweed and sand and shells and shake them about. They don't pick up much at all. That's a reminder that I can't pick up too much right now. They aren't that dark blue-brown of the turbulent ocean, they are just light blueish green, just reflecting the sky. I need to just reflect, not try to fix. They are soft in sound, not loud and overbearing. I need to walk and talk quietly. They are clear. I need to just be, not try to hold everything in and hold everything together. It's okay to let go.
A few other things are getting me through. Looking at beautiful pictures. Trying to make a plant healthy. I bought a watercolor workbook from this website. (I am not being paid or anything... it's just something I found.) A friend gave me some beautiful cards with lovely quotes. These are the gentle waves I'll carry with me through this next season when I'm not able to get to the beach. I'll listen to a pretty song. I'll make some cookies. And I know that somewhere I'll get knocked down by another wave. But hopefully, I'll find a hand to hold and a warm beach towel waiting for me.
