I just finished writing a set of “photo” postcards to various people in my life — a childhood camp counselor turned friend, a current coworker, a former rugby teammate, a childhood friend, two toddler age cousins. I print out recent photos I’ve taken and scribble short notes on the back before shipping them off. In writing them, I found myself stuck on this idea of how to live intentionally during these times especially as my days continue to blur.
In the past, when I’ve experienced blurring days, it’s been after trauma or a horrible life event. I came to recognize later that blurring days can be a useful coping mechanism. It allows the power of time to give you distance from whatever might be going on without you having much say in it. The days simply add up seemingly all at once.
The question then becomes: do I want to interrupt this blurring? If so, how? The thought of truly feeling each day pass feels daunting right now. Perhaps I can shock my system a few times a week with a dose of intentionality but allow the blurring to exist as it needs to?
Hilariously, I’ve been using caffeine as a way to moderate this blurring effect. During the work week, I’ll have caffeine 3-4 times before cutting myself off the second the weekend starts. The caffeine hit during the week allows me to feel more alive frankly and dive deeper into the work. Detoxing each weekend allows me to unwind into the blur sleeping in late, reading for hours, and disappearing groggily into nature. Perhaps though there’s no true way to moderate this. Perhaps there’s lots to be learned in the blurring, in the holding on. That’s what this feels like: holding on.
I had a lifechat last week that shocked me awake more than any amount of caffeine could. In its wake, I now feel the ache in my heart of wanting to be able to sit across from another person and be fully present in witnessing them. Just as I fall into a steady rhythm of pushing onwards while out on long hikes and I’ve run out of water (sigh this has happened too many times), I feel myself adapting in this same way. I know the cold water will come and I’ll make it back safely just as I know I must continue with one foot in front of the other to get there. I distract myself with music, I day dream about slurpees, I pause to appreciate the nature, and I feel the power of my body in motion. Time passes and suddenly I’m at home chugging water. Time passes and I hope I’ll soon be wrapping my friends up in hugs.