Showing all posts tagged pandemic

In Identity, Movies/TV, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, University, Writing

Novelty

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

A few years ago, at the beginning of this never-ending pandemic, my counsellor encouraged me to pursue novelty. To look for the whimsical, the different, the charming, the fun to add a dash of inspiration and renewal into my days and weeks. It was fantastic advice.

This spring, when Jason and the kids began planning the annual summer driving trip from the lower mainland to our timeshare in Canmore for Jason to attend the Calgary Stampede for a week of work events, I decided not to go with them. I’ve gone every year, since the kids were born, either driving from Alberta to BC for the cabin with Jason’s extended family or back to the Alberta Rocky mountains when we moved to White Rock in 2016.

I used to love road trips, and may again in the future, but last summer I realized I was tired of the long drive. Routine and tradition certainly have their place, and are important to me, but I’m learning to listen to that quiet voice of intuition when it speaks. While we were on the ten-hour journey home from Canmore last summer, I said, “I think I need a break from this trip. I’ve been doing it every year, sometimes twice in a year, for nearly twenty years.”

The kids were aghast. Why would Mom stay home alone instead of going on the family road trip? But Ava is nineteen now, and driving on her own, so it seemed like a good time to mix things up. Plus, our nearly twelve-year-old cat Flower was diagnosed with feline diabetes earlier this year, so going away for an extended period is not as simple as it used to be with his twice-daily insulin shots spaced twelve hours apart. And I’m finishing up my thesis, so it seemed to make sense all around for me to stay home.

As an introvert, the forced closeness of the pandemic has been challenging for me. Jason has been working from home for more than two years now, and the kids have been home a lot more, too. I know this is a familiar tale for everyone, but when you are used to being at home on your own during the day, five days a week, and then you are almost never alone, it takes a toll on your mental health.

I didn’t know quite how badly I needed some quiet and space until my beloved family left. I sank into the silence, and felt it soothe my soul. Every day for a full eight days, I’ve only had myself and the two cats to consider. What do I want to eat, and when? What movies and TV should I watch? What type of novelty should I build into this day? When should I read my novel, for hours at a time, and when should I get my two thousand words written for today?

All of these decisions were mine, and mine alone. It was glorious. Healing. Rejuvenating. Knowing that Ava and William were fine in Canmore, having their own adventures and making their own memories, and Jason was busy with his work friends in Calgary, meant that I could truly focus my attention and energy just on myself. I took a week’s break from being a mom and a wife. I was only responsible for myself, and I felt like a plant getting water and sun for the first time in a while.

I do love my family. I will be glad to see them when they get home tomorrow. But I’ve also, equally, adored this time apart from them. To regroup. To prioritize myself, and my own needs as a person in my own right. I’m on the cusp of finishing the first draft of my thesis manuscript, which is a big accomplishment. I was worried about it, when I started my MFA last September, and now I’m about to type the words The End. There will still be lots of editing work to do, going back and forth with my fabulous supervisor and committee, but the daunting task of staring down a blank document is behind me. I’ve proved something to myself, and that’s worth a lot.

What type of novelty can you build into your life? How can you mix up your usual routines to provide a new spark of joy and excitement? Are there a few specific things you can do to prioritize yourself, especially when you usually give a lot to others?

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, Nurture, Personal Growth, Relationships, Uncategorized, University, Writing

Winter Solstice

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

I haven’t written here for months, due to my schedule as a full-time MFA student and being a TA at UBC, so the shortest day of the year (or more accurate at the end of 2021, might be the longest night of the year) seems like a good day to write a post.

How’s everyone doing? It’s rough out there, with Omicron running wild and those of us who got vaxxed wondering if it will work to protect us after all. It’s cold, it’s dark, we’re tired, nothing is certain. And yet, from this point forward, we get just a smidge more light and hope every day as we inch toward the summer solstice.

I’ve always loved these last few days before Christmas, but this year everything feels a little harder than most years. The joy is there, but muted somehow.

Our house flooded in early October, making an already stressful fall significantly worse as we experienced constant disruptions and noise with restoration and construction for two months. A friend commented, “A flood? Sheesh. You’d think a pandemic would be enough…” which made me laugh in spite of my frustration.

Like so many of us this year, I limped to the finish line this month in my first term as a graduate student. I learned a lot, met some really cool writers, and improved my work. Those were the pluses, but the bone-deep weariness was a real issue, affecting my ability to focus by mid-November.

The amazing prof I worked with as a TA in term one routinely told our TA team, “We are all carrying more than we think we are right now. We need to be gentle with ourselves and each other, admitting when it’s too much and asking for help.” I think about this a lot.

Here we are, on the first day of winter, in a pandemic that keeps changing. I remind myself every day to hold loosely and to keep my expectations low. We plan and then we’re forced to amend those plans. We try to stay calm, to look after ourselves and others, and to extend grace because we know everyone around us is also hurting.

Soon, there will be more light. When we are exhausted, we must rest, so we have enough energy to continue on. Eat all the chocolate, my friends. Treat yourself. Carve out time to do whatever it is that makes your soul feel light and happy. We will make it through this.

I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a happy New Year!

In Books, Identity, Movies/TV, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, Uncategorized, University, Writing

New Season

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

I’m heading into a new season this fall, beginning my two-year full-time MFA program in Creative Writing at UBC. We’re meeting in person, which will be a huge change after moving online for the the last 18 months of my BA. With vaccinations available to everyone aged twelve and up this summer, it seemed possible for a “return to normal” in September, but classes begin next week and the variants are still spreading at alarming rates.

If we’ve all learned anything during this never-ending pandemic, it’s to expect change at a moment’s notice. We plan, and we hope, getting vaccinations when they are offered, wearing masks indoors to stay safe, thoroughly washing our hands, and trying not to take unnecessary risks. We have no guarantees, and we try to manage our fear.

In any new season, I usually feel a mix of joy and dread. This fall, I have lots of different emotions crowding to the surface. I’ve loved my five month break from academia. I’ve read loads of mystery and crime novels, slept in, watched some great TV, played cards with Jason and the kids, walked, practiced some yoga and wrote. My three guiding words in this season were: rest, relax, rejuvenate. I wanted to be prepared and ready for the new challenges of being a full-time MFA student.

Part of me mourns the end of the summer. The other embraces it with open arms, as I feel like I prioritized rest and leisure, so I hope I’ll see the rewards once I jump back in to classes and assignments. I’m also going to be a TA for the first time for an undergrad writing class. This both excites and scares me. We never really know if we are up to a challenge simply by thinking about it. We have to jump in and do it in order to really find out.

We have another unexpected change in the form of Ava taking a gap year before starting at University of Victoria. For an entire year, I’ve been emotionally preparing for her to leave home, grieving for her while she was still here living with us. And then at the end of July, we found out that she wouldn’t have a place to live on campus, so after a flurry of searching for off-campus housing that didn’t exist or was ridiculously expensive, Ava made the decision to defer her admission for one year. So she remains at home, working a couple of part-time jobs to save more money for school next year.

A lovely surprise because I don’t have to let go of her quite yet, but still a change that I wasn’t expecting. Next week, William starts grade 10 at a new high school in our district, so for him it’s a new season as well. Something in my nature loves predictability and certainty, but too much stability becomes stale. We do need a bit of variety and spontaneity to keep us engaged and growing.

The older I get, the more I understand that I can’t think my way through change. I just have to walk it out. Trying to forecast exactly what will happen is a fool’s errand. Situations are too complex for that type of guesswork. As we say in the recovery movement, an expectation is a premeditated resentment. I’m trying to “cherish no outcome” as a friend of mine says. Instead I choose to believe I’ll have what I need for the challenges ahead at the moment I need them. Not before and not after.

Tomorrow the calendar turns over to September and a whole new season begins. What’s in store for you this fall?

In Culture, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking, Uncategorized

Endings and Beginnings

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

We are in a time of transition, with seasons ending and new ones beginning. This pandemic, which has dragged on forever and a year, is entering a fresh stage with our province announcing a re-opening plan. All four of us in my immediate family have been vaccinated with our first dose, providing hope for a return to normalcy.

But what the hell does that even mean? Almost fifteen months into this thing, we have adjusted to masks, social distancing, staying at home, being extra cautious all the damn time. This weird version of life now feels normal to us. I can’t quite imagine getting on a plane again, going on vacation and out to restaurants, socializing with others, and speaking to a crowd of real live human beings instead of through a screen.

I’m reminded again of how strange and unsettling change can be. I know it’s good for me, like eating my vegetables and flossing my teeth, but I really hate not knowing what to expect. For this whole pandemic none of us were able to make any real plans, because staring into the future was like peering at a giant question mark. But now it appears hope is on the horizon, and yet I find myself still feeling cautious and uncertain.

Every ending has an invitation to a beginning built into it. I’m trying to focus on that as we move into the summer. Ava graduated this week from grade twelve and we’re preparing for her to attend the University of Victoria in September. She’s enrolled in the theatre program where she’ll work toward a BFA in acting. Another rough ending, when she moves out of our house, with an exciting beginning just after the tears have dried.

Perhaps the key is to make room for all of it. The sadness when one thing ends, then the vacuum of the liminal space where we feel unprepared and afraid, and finally the rejuvenation of a new experience. As Anne Lamott wrote, “My diocesan priest friend Terry Richie says the thing is not to try harder, but to resist less.” I’m inherently bad at resisting less, but it’s something I’m working toward. Flowing with the current instead of against it.

Each of us is at different stages of change, but when it comes to the pandemic we are all experiencing some of the same growing pains. We’re like butterflies emerging from the chrysalis, flying into the sunshine, freer to move around than we’ve been in over a year. Who knows what will happen next? Maybe that’s part of the allure. To allow ourselves grace when we feel timid, and to celebrate together when we feel brave. When one season ends, another one automatically begins. It’s hopeful and scary at exactly the same time.