How are you?
How
Am
I?
That question, so simple, made me pause. It is such a common expression for Americans. We use it like others use "hello" or "good day." It's a greeting, an exchange, an acknowledgement of shared humanity and space; however, it isn't always stripped of literal meaning. Sometimes—sometimes—people actually want to know how you are.
A friend asked me that yesterday, and it made me think. How am I?
As a parent, I spend many hours trying to teach my children how to use words to express their emotions. It is so much more complicated than I expected. Their inclination is to use their bodies. Hug and smile and laugh means one thing. Hide means another. Hit and throw and scream means entirely something else. But to turn that into words? Some days it feels like I'm demanding calculus from a five year just to get a verbal expression of internal emotion. And I know it is my job to teach them, to give them words, to model healthy traits. I'm the mom around here.
Now instead of me asking my kids and requiring them to turn inwards and be able to share outwards, someone was asking me.
"How are you, Mimi?"
After much thought, I responded that I was floating. I'm not drowning. (I spent months last year feeling like I was, so I am very grateful to no longer feel that way.) So, not drowning; yet, also not swimming. I am usually so busy, so full of purpose and goals. I still have goals, and my life has meaning, but most of them are not mine. They are my family's. And I always have family purpose, but usually I get to have my own, too.
Right now, I'm not swimming. There are no strong, sure strokes moving me toward completing my projects and fulfilling my aspirations—no fluid kicks propelling me forward into new roles and challenges. I am a person who derives great happiness from helping others, and I haven't really felt like I have helped anyone in a long time.
But I'm not drowning anymore! We have stayed healthy. My husband has a job. My country provides stimulus checks. My child who has really struggled with this move is finally doing better (not "normal," but such progress since August and September!). We have steady internet and multiple devices to allow my kids to do school from home and my husband to work from home. Hey, we even have a home! We didn't have one of those for many months last year. We have food to eat. I am definitely not drowning.
I'm just . . . floating. That could be viewed as relaxing. It has been that sometimes. This year has meant a lot of family time. So much family time. (Too much family time?)
But floating is not as relaxing as you might think it would be if there are drowning people everywhere you look. If every week brings news of someone you know having lost someone due to covid. News of someone you know being hospitalized due to covid. News of people all around you who have been out of work for months. News of children stuck out of school and adults unable to pay bills. And that's just the covid complications. That doesn't even touch racism, riots, ethnic cleansing, terrorism, abuse, and wars in various parts of the world.
Honestly, I imagine that it feels like living during WWI, WWII, the Great Depression, and the Spanish influenza all at once and being practically untouched by it all, which is a terrible feeling; it is a guilty feeling. Do I want someone I love to die? Do I want my husband to lose his job? Do I want to get sick? Would I feel better then? No. Of course not. What I really wish is that no one else was or did. But so, so many are or have. And what do you do with the guilt of having a pretty okay life yet still feeling miserable but not feeling like you deserve to feel miserable, because things aren’t as bad as they could be? Where do you put that feeling?
And so I continue to live with the weight of floating while others are drowning, of floating while I wish I were swimming, of floating while holding onto the hope that I won't float forever. Some day my kids will go back to school, and my husband will go back to work, and fewer people will be dying alone of a highly contagious disease, and I can go back to swimming. There will always be suffering in the world, but at least when I'm swimming I feel like I'm doing a small part toward alleviating it.
I feel like if I learned one thing in 2020 it is that being nice isn't enough. But what is?
I just want to say, that by forcing yourself to just float, in so many ways IS what you are doing to help, by doing your part to help contain this virus. Very small thing, but to the person who doesn’t die because you stayed home, it’s a very huge thing. Let’s throw one sea star back into the ocean at a time. Deep breaths.
ReplyDeleteOn rare occasions I have been close to the sufferings of others, while still feeling somehow sheltered and protected from harm reaching me and those I am closest too; 2020 did pierce this safe feeling and even though all I am closest to are still ok, yet I feel worn and grieve at the harsh side of humanity. You called the latest state floating, making me think, how passive this year has seemed, I’ve had no active service to reassure me that “I’m ok”; and somehow giving back out of gratitude for all I’ve received.
ReplyDeleteNote: GG taught me to not say “How are you?”, unless I had purpose behind the question with a commitment of time to listen with care and act; instead I was to greet others with a cheerful smile and a, “Hi” or “Good morning”. She considered the oblivious use of such a question, to be simply, thoughtless, poor communication. Thanks for sharing your answer to the question.
Thank goodness for floating.
ReplyDeleteThat is so true.
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