Pause, Process, Play Around, & Proceed.

Sometimes, joy—even in the midst of grief—is a muscle that you build over time.

Often, it doesn’t land in your lap. You train for it.

When I was living in Charlotte, I was involved in a legal battle, with a ridiculous amount of filings, with new notifications emailed every week. It felt a lot like the news does these days, especially with several mass shootings in such a short window:

It felt like an onslaught, where something terrible was happening, and some more terrible was just on the horizon.

It was easy to feel afraid at every moment. My body was flooded with stress hormones, and every time I opened my phone, it was a little bit worse. My mind leapt towards a thousand ways things could go wrong and a thousand ways to fix them.  

I had to teach myself how to make my life a safe place again. I focused on making my evenings and my weekends quiet and serene.

I put my phone in the other room. I would check the screen to see if anyone had called me (indicating an actual emergency), but otherwise, I wouldn’t look at it.  

I wrote on an index card: “They’re not here now. Focus on what’s in front of you.” I posted it where I could see it, which would help me interrupt my thoughts when my mind was running down a fearful rabbit hole.

Then, I focused on what was in front of me:

Sometimes, I wrote in my journal and wept—much like the active grieving I talked about last week.

Sometimes, I watched movies. I read books. I went for walks, listening to podcasts. I gave myself room to enjoy what that I actually liked.

Yes, on the weekdays, I could deal with all those emails and all those filings, but the pause during my free time was a critical ingredient to my endurance.

I trained myself to pause, process, play around, and proceed. I made it a habit.

That legal battle is over, but I still follow these steps, including this weekend: 

That’s where this post came from: on Saturday morning, I saw the news about Boulder, CO. I practiced my 5 breaths in the car, and then I hiked around, marveling at the landscape and snapping these pictures. Sunday morning, I drafted this post. Wednesday evening, when I saw the news about Orange, CA this evening, I revised it so that I could post it here.  

This collective mess is a marathon, not a sprint.

The pain will be there—we’re programmed to feel that immediately, but you can train yourself to seek out the pleasure, the joy.

Joy is often the fuel you need to return to whatever task you’re working through right now.

Originally posted 3/31/21.