Showing all posts tagged fear

In Identity, Nurture, Personal Growth, Relationships, Spiritual Life

Hinges

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

We went to a funeral recently, the first one in a long time. The man who died was the grandfather of one of Ava’s earliest friends. I remember him as kind and quiet whenever we met at christenings, children’s birthday parties, or family dinners.

His funeral drew hundreds of people. It was a beautiful service, and I felt melancholy and reflective for the rest of the day after the morning mass. I began to think about my own legacy—what I will leave behind when I die.

I grew up as an evangelical Christian. In that world, we talked a lot about death but the focus was on going to heaven. I was terrified that I’d die and be denied entrance to heaven for some arbitrary reason. I worried constantly about ending up in hell.

When I moved away from my evangelical beliefs a decade ago, my fear of death slowly lost its grip on me. I began the practice of daily guided meditation. Over time, I could imagine dying without feeling a choking fear that God would be angry with me and refuse to allow me into heaven, no matter how hard I’d worked at being good and worthy.

Now, when I imagine death, it feels like a hinge. And life is full of these hinges—areas where we finish one chapter and move into a new one. We all experience so many cycles of death and rebirth. We change, we evolve, we begin and end something over and over.

I had to catch myself from competitive thinking after the funeral I attended. I asked Jason, “How many people do you think will come to my funeral?” This question caused me to worry that I haven’t kept up with enough old friends. That maybe I haven’t given to people as much over the last decade compared to how social I used to be when the kids were small.

Some of this happens naturally as we age. We experience ebbs and flows in our social lives, depending on the season of life we are in. I wrote in my journal to process these feelings, reminding myself that life and death and funeral numbers are not a competition.

The lovely man who died this month won’t ever know how many lives he had touched to inspire hundreds of people to attend his celebration of life. But his family knew. And it meant something to them. Each person who came and who shared their memories helped the family to feel less alone. And the legacy he left will endure. His love lives on in his children and grandchildren.

It’s healthy at hinge moments in our lives to reflect on what matters the most. I realised while writing in my journal that I felt a sense of deep loss when I heard family members speak about this man’s death, because he was so warm and kind and loving. I didn’t experience a relationship like that with my own father, and even though he’s been dead for twenty-two years, I wish I had known that kind of support and care from him.

We can never go back. Only forward. I’m relieved not to feel a paralysing fear any longer when I imagine dying. I think we can practice this comfort level by being more intentional about the other endings and beginnings we experience throughout our lives. With each hinge that opens and closes, we move closer to the final one. We never know when it will come. All we can do is live and love to the best of our ability, and try to remain present and attentive to each day as it comes.

How do you feel about death? Does it cause fear when you consider your own mortality? What type of hinges help you feel more at peace when you think about the end of your life?

In Culture, Identity, Nurture, Personal Growth, Relationships, University, Writing

Process, Not Product

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

One of my grad school professors taught me this phrase last semester: Process, Not Product. Usually I pick three words to focus on for each new year, but for 2022 I’ve decided to use this three-word phrase instead.

We used it in a writing class, but it works well as a general concept. Our North American society is so fixated on the end product. Along the way, the joy of the process required in order to achieve that product can become lost. I’m hoping to recover that joy this year.

The way my prof described it, the process is the part we have the most control over. Particularly when writing, but for many areas of life the process itself is what really matters. Setting up a creative practice that holds meaning for me is under my direct control. Thinking about the process in a new way, instead of fixating on the eventual outcome of that process, is likely to make me happier.

In 2022, this third year of our never-ending pandemic reality, I’m looking to a healthier daily work process instead of peering so far down the line to glimpse the finished product. This same professor encouraged his students to be fierce about our own work, to believe in ourselves and our unique voices, and to stop looking for so much validation outside of ourselves.

These are worthy pursuits for a new year. To channel our depleted energies into more of what we can control, and choose to let go of the areas where we have limited say. To inch toward kindness, in as many settings and relationships as possible, and to eschew cynicism in all of its nasty forms. To believe in goodness again, and to slowly cultivate the flame of hope to combat our despair.

Process, not product. I like the simplicity of this phrase. I wrote it on an index card above my desk, where I hope to remind myself of this focus every day of the year. I’m hoping it will help with the fear I feel about completing my thesis project this summer. Forecasting failure or success before I’ve even started the work is a losing game. Instead, I’ll put that energy into crafting a daily writing process that sustains me, and brings me joy, for that will be the thing that carries me through.

What process, not product can you concentrate on this year?

In Culture, Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Politics, Relationships, Speaking, University

Fall 2020

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

Deep breath, everyone. Here we go, into a back-to-school season shaped like one ginormous question mark. We haven’t experienced this exact landscape before, one fraught with endless decisions to make, while wearing a blindfold.

Is full-time, face-to-face instruction safe? Is a hybrid face-to-face/online method better? What about full-time online at home for learning? My answer is: I don’t know. We are all whistling in the dark here, exploring the options our school districts are offering, while watching the news to see what’s working and not working against Covid in other areas of the country.

It’s a strange time. Usually I feel a surge of optimism when I turn the calendar to September, but this year the key feeling I have is uncertainty. I’m entering my second last semester of my Creative Writing BA, and I’m wondering why it’s not safe for me to return to in-person university classes and yet it’s okay for my high schoolers to have face-to-face instruction starting next week.

Part of me wants to move on and get back to some version of normal, but another part is anxious about BC’s rising Covid numbers and what that means when thousands of kids and teachers return to classrooms. The public health guidance for months has been around small bubbles, hand-washing, mask-wearing and extreme caution, which feels like whiplash when we contemplate returning to school, even with a number of new precautions in place.

The one thing I know for sure is that this is going to be a school year like no other. It will be disruptive and unpredictable. We will all need to practice patience and grace for one another as we try to navigate these choppy waters. It’s helpful to refrain from judgement when someone else’s Covid plan looks different from yours. We are all doing the best that we can in the midst of trying circumstances.

I spent time last week doing virtual Pro D sessions for some fabulous teachers in Kelowna. Most of them were feeling anxious and concerned. I did my best to remind them that you cannot pour from an empty cup. We have to put our own oxygen masks on before we can assist others in an emergency. Self-care first and foremost. Walk in nature, take deep breaths, journal, draw, meditate, stretch, sleep.

The prescription for Fall 2020 is flexibility, kindness, caution and self-care. Prepare for plans to shift and change with very little notice. Let’s take care of ourselves and each other. Check in with those you love. Acknowledge the fear but don’t let it take over.

We are going to need all of our resources for the challenges ahead. Six months have passed since the pandemic began in Canada, so we know more now than we did at the beginning. The best way to get through this challenging time is by caring for one another.

Deep breath. Here we go, with our fingers crossed.

In Culture, Identity, Minimalism, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships

Patience

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

I’m not a patient person by nature. Frustration settles hard and fast in my soul when things go wrong. I get brittle and testy in a hurry (yes, I see the irony of using hurry when I’m writing about patience).

Something in me longs for security. For safety. For peace. And in our pandemic days and months, these entities are in short supply. Where patience is required, I end up spinning my wheels in a state of fear instead. The fear builds, looking for a release, and I realize that I’m far too tense.

I know I’m not alone in these feelings, which helps. When I talk with friends, I hear a similar note of frustration and uncertainty. It’s hard on all of us to peer into the future and see a series of question marks with no ability to plan due to the unpredictable nature of the virus.

And I know that we were never really in control, however, that’s cold comfort right now (nothing is actually cold as we are in a heatwave, but I digress). Control itself is an illusion, but oh how I miss that illusion. My insides are like sandpaper these days, rough and tight. I’m tired but also restless, irritated and somewhat paranoid.

Which brings me back to patience. I need to find my way back to it. When I feel the most stable, I take time every day to stretch my body and do a guided meditation to calm my mind. I’m still stretching, but meditation seems to have disappeared. I also write in my journal, as it’s a safe place to explore my fears and emotions, but lately it doesn’t seem to be helping.

Not one of us knows what’s coming. A vaccine would be great, but this outcome is not guaranteed. For now, we all struggle along in our brave new world of masks, social distancing, increased cleaning protocols and uncertainty about school and work reopening (my God, how I miss our townhouse complex pool in this 32 degree weather!). Over all of it hovers a sense of fear about the virus – will I stay healthy? Will my loved ones continue to avoid getting sick? Is this get-together an acceptable risk or is it reckless?

I’m not sure of anything right now. I know this is a growing place to be, and six months from now I’ll likely have learned something. But I can’t understand or predict that growth right now. This is the survival stage. It requires patience and gentleness, two areas I’m weak in.

Just writing this has helped me to breathe a little bit deeper. I’ve recommitted to the idea that I need to meditate each day to try to counteract my rising fear. It’s always better to swim with the current and not against it (not that I’m doing a lot of swimming but the metaphor still works). For today, I am safe and secure. I can move toward being at peace. And if I continue to feel unsettled, I can attempt to just make it through this stressful time to see how I’ve changed at the end of it. Maybe I’ll develop a bit more patience.

How are you at the 4.5 month mark of this Covid-19 pandemic?

In Culture, Nurture, Politics, Relationships, Uncategorized

Community Care

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

For the last few months, I’ve been leaning into the phrase community care. Now, with a COVID-19 global pandemic stirring up fear and uncertainty, it’s a critical time to examine what it means to move beyond self care and into a broader sense of helping one another.

If you’re like me, logging onto Twitter multiple times a day causes your anxiety to skyrocket (Rita Wilson, Tom Hanks and Sophie Grégoire Trudeau all have the virus??!). This week, every couple of hours we faced a new coronavirus cancellation or announcement. Uncertainty is the order of the day (will schools close, should we go to this event, how much toilet paper is reasonable to buy?).

One of the biggest downsides of the internet is constant access to information, particularly when what we read or watch may not be accurate. We are all informed, but not necessarily qualified to speak knowledgeably about complex medical, economic or political issues. I’m trying to listen to actual experts in these fields instead of someone spouting opinions. I’m hoping this will keep my fear level a bit lower.

Over the last week, my panic cycle went like this: This is the end game and we’re all going to die, go stock up on food and supplies, never leave the house again, cry over our tanking investments, lose all hope. (Overall, not very pleasant or helpful.)

Thankfully, these last few days I’ve been more careful about the articles I’m reading. I’m going for more walks and looking at Twitter less. The positive side of this is slowly taking shape for me, like a Polaroid photo sharpening into focus. A global health crisis can show us the worst of humanity, but also the best. This is the opportunity for community care: for us to take care of one another.

I’ve been developing a novel about a post-patriarchy world, where capitalism as we once understood it is destroyed and something new is built in its place. Perhaps this crisis is what we need to address rampant wealth inequality and profound selfishness. Maybe it’s an opportunity to hit the refresh button on our modern lives, where busyness and status are the insubstantial goals we strive for. If we want a fairer, kinder world, the old one must disappear so that we can imagine something better.

Our world is in a true crisis. It’s definitely scary and I’m not attempting to minimize that. But stories of people helping out their neighbours who are quarantined bring me so much joy. Our reliance on technology has isolated us from true connection with one another, but now we are seeing just how much we need each other when we are facing life and death issues.

It’s a time for community care. To stay home to contain the risks of spreading this virus too fast for our medical systems to keep up with those who are sick. To change the way we look at what’s happening; to see that our response to this crisis could make our society more compassionate and equitable. The way we save lives is by working together, not by panicking and attacking one another. Community care. We all need each other to survive.