It's good enough, right?
What has kept me afloat during one of the most mundane summers of my life.
Can you believe that this publication is called “good enough” and I haven’t sent out a newsletter in 3 weeks because nothing I write feels good enough? I can. That’s part of the reason this exists. That crunching, suffocating self-doubt. The belief that I am wrong in some way, in the ways that I might be too much or not enough. I don’t know that I’ve ever experienced “just right”.
It doesn’t benefit me to freeze up. So today, I’m letting the hands move in real time. I am going to report on the things I have found joyful or imbued with gratitude or worth experiencing. Taking a look back at a summer that is quickly fading into fall. I did not do much of what I wanted to do. Chronic pain and autoimmune issues continuously press me back down into the couch, the bed, the chair. I do my best to not let it keep me pressed for too long. I wrestle back against it. I worry one day I just won’t get up again. But for now, I can and I do.
I am facilitating Grief Writing for Children of Immigrants. I was boldly nervous about the first one and of course, in a true fashion, the world aligned that those who signed up needed more rest or weren’t able to attend. This felt important to me that the first one fell through: in a past, younger version of myself, I would have felt knocked back at my capacity to hold this space. I would have been discouraged. Not today. I found myself further inspired to get the word out and to continue holding the space. The next opportunity to gather will be September 7th at 10 a.m. CST. You can register here.
My spouse talked about watermelon all spring and at last bought one. Then another one. As I stood over my sink, taking a bite of the cold wet ripe fruit, I had a flash of understanding: the starvation occurring in Gaza came to mind vividly. The symbol that a watermelon has been and what it would mean to eat without fear. I felt a rage for Palestinians and a gratitude for my own safety, and in that a deep grief. But it is good to not forget what is happening, it is important to not forget, and to always be speaking truth to it. If you’re considering a direct financial donation, consider The Sameer Project, which is increasing access to medical care and fundraising helps. Read a bit more about this at the bottom of ’s August 17th offering, where I learned about the Palestinian-led initiative.
I am reading Everything is Tuberculosis by John Green. My favorite part about reading this book was leaning over to my spouse during our viewing of Weapons and whispering, “consumption is tuberculosis!”
Going to the movies has been good for me. Watching Weapons in a packed theater was reviving. The ways in which we all jumped, yelled “fuck no”, and cackled, hooted, n’ hollered at the end was communion. There’s so much to be hurt about right now, so much to be clenching our jaws about, so much to be raging angry about, and to go to the movies and have a moment where we let that float above us is restorative. Similarly, I was also revived by Superman. I hadn’t laughed that hard in a movie in so long, in a way that also felt intelligible and emotional. I joked earlier this year that “men are having a moment”. I’m not someone who is consuming media made by men by conscious choice, but Zach Cregger and James Gunn really did something for me with these two movies. I guess John with the book, too. But John has always spoken the same language as me.
Going to the community pool with my library book and this body I am constantly afraid of turning on me has helped lift me out of a summer funk. There’s only a few more pool weekends left. I am hopeful to spend more time in the water.
Every summer or winter break my brother (in education) and I take ourselves down to Mediterranean Cafe and order shawarma plates and catch up about movies, video games, our friends, and our work. We caught up just in time, in the last few weeks of summer. We’ve been going there since 2006. Nearly 20 years later, we have transformed in many ways as individuals and as siblings, and yet Med Cafe retains it’s atmosphere, it’s food, and the joie de vivre it provides us. The beautiful part is that campus is empty of students during both of these breaks, so it really feels like we get the place to ourselves. It is a tradition that feels unspoken and like one certain thing we have that’s joyful to reflect on.
Sharing things that revive me or fill my cup always comes with hesitancy. What if someone judges me for enjoying these mass produced things that some of my more radical peers would call “basic?”? I kind of like the idea that I can still get a laugh or a good cry or a joy out of basic things. That I am not so far into intellectualizing life that I don’t know what the kids are into or saying (my BFF recently told me the kids are saying “I’m creased” to describe being folded over laughing). My spouse said that people think being earnest is cringe. Okay, so I can’t be earnest and I can’t be ironic and I can’t like the mundane or the incredibly serious? What an unfun way to live!
So I peel that back and say today, what I have to share with you is good enough. It’s proof of life, if anything. I don’t need to be perfect for my readers or my clients or my family or my friends, I just need to be present and participating.
What are you finding ease or challenge in showing up for?
Let us thoroughly enjoy making superficial people cringe with our earnestness. :) I wish I was not so familiar with the inescapability of the couch. But the times I'm able to be free of it are golden. My present challenge is working out as much as I can, even on bad days, before I'm down from my hysterectomy next month, so I can enter the long recovery period from a position of strength, but in theory I'll feel better soon now that one affliction is going away. And I'll get more writing and reading done! I hope the new timing is harmonious for your grief writing session.