Laughter, my meandering mind, random thoughts, grief…the hamster wheel
When I’m exhausted, frustrated, or annoyed I typically cope in one of two ways. I hit the gym and beat the shit out of a bag, beloved sparring partner, or coach or I resort to sarcasm and very black humor because…why not? Life can be utterly absurd at times with a dash of twilight zone surreal. I love laughter. It’s therapy for me. I love people that make me laugh, I LOVE sarcasm and utterly reject the idea that it is the lowest form of wit. My family’s favorite past time is to shoot the shit and crack on each other. It can be a verbal death match with hilarity at times if you take it all with a grain of salt and in the spirit of good fun.
These are just a bunch of random meandering thoughts I’m having lately because that’s what your monkey mind does during large swaths of downtime. It’s like sitting with yourself in meditation without judgement, exploring the nooks and crannies of your mind and soul. What thoughts come, come, let them in and just observe.
We are all dealing with the absurd right now. Introverts with extroverts, extroverts with introverts, people utterly alone, the loneliness is almost palpable, too many people on top of each other, trying to stay positive, hunkering down, trying to stay sane, healthy and moderately productive. It’s a shitshow…..anxiety, frustration, crushing disappointment, joy, hope, quiet, gross incompetence, profound bravery, courage and admiration. It’s a lot of conflicting emotions for me. Acknowledging this moment with humor, taking my first world, food secure, healthy, (knock on wood) deep breath and staring it in the face is an important coping mechanism. My husband and two children are under the same roof now for just about over three weeks as many of you are. It’s been mostly awesome but I wont lie…there are moments I don’t get any alone time. I don’t function well without alone time. It makes me feel caged.
So… I’m at home with kids as many of us are and trying to help my son complete his fifth grade science project. The experiment is to create a number of paper airplanes and determine which will fly the farthest. I’m his science buddy for the time being, poor child, and I’ve always hated origami and folding. As his science partner I have to do my part and pull my weight, that means making paper airplanes. Like the assertive, masterful little dude he is my son assigns me the F-18 hornet and the F-14 tomcat. If you have some time and are looking for something to do it’s kind of fun and humbling. You can check them out on Youtube.
Foolishly I thought, “How hard can a paper airplane be to make? I can readily produce a five course meal, do advanced calculus, run and eight minute mile and make a grown man tap into submission”. This should be a piece of cake…
I shit you not it took me three tries to make the F-18. I have a master’s degree in science and a fifth grade science experiment makes me want to pull my ever increasing white hair out…..Holy mother of god. I knew if my brother and sister were here they would appreciate this moment for its purity, humanity and the utter silliness. Normalizing the surreal and making the absurd palatable with humor is what my family does. I will forever love and appreciate this skill and the cultivation of it. I would give it to the world if I could. I’m missing my family dearly right now as I’m sure many people are. There is something unique in relationships that stand the test of time, friendships or otherwise. People that have known you through the many incarnations of your life hold your history in their hands and typically ground, humiliate and keep your ego in check.
As I was finishing the F-18 my mind jumped back to a car ride many years ago to the funeral home where my father was cremated. My dad passed away when I was in my late twenties. It was a pivotal time in my life and as many of us do, I felt that I had left many issues unfinished with him.
My husband and my sister were in the car together after leaving his service. Grief is a funny thing and very personal. Some people take comfort in others, some are impenetrable monoliths of fortitude, some fall apart. I remember that we were all emotionally exhausted from having people at the house and having to entertain as people paid their respects. My grief tends to be private. I don’t think I had attended an Indian funeral until that point. What surprised me the most was the wailing. I mean let it all hang out, eject every ounce of grief about all those who wronged you, wasn’t even my mother kind of wailing. My eyes were a little wide in disbelief. I wanted to laugh out loud through my tears and in the car I mentioned it to my sister and the three of us started laughing so hard. Life is better like that, tears and laughter, they help you digest the absurd. I will always remember that moment and the comfort I reaped from the two of them.
I’m not sure why a paper airplane made me think of that. Perhaps it’s the increase in quiet moments I’ve been cherishing. My children’s laughter at the dinner table, seeing my sister’s face over the phone, watching clips of her grandson while my nephew wrestles with him on the floor exposing his hairy butt crack. Maybe my brain needed a reminder of the exquisite joy that can be found in being alive if we remember how to live. Even with the fear, uncertainty, anxiety and clouded path that lays before us. Your health, breath, loved ones and kindness is true wealth.
Everyone has their own reasons to fight or quit. To carve out a life of meaning and purpose, to leave the world a better place in some small way, to build legacies, to help set a path for future generations. Who we are, who we protect, how we react and our humanity should ground us in this moment. Folding airplanes isn’t a bad analogy for every other endeavor that has tested my resolve. I could fall apart, lash out, blame others and act small or acknowledge that life has forever changed and decide where I go from there. We are more alone and interconnected than ever in our loss, grief, fear, resolve, commitment, and desire for better. Fight for it. Fight for that idea. As kindergarten cliche as it sounds, it will be worth it.
I’m sure we are all pondering our own mortality. In that moment wouldn’t it be awesome if we all learned to live. Really, carpe diem, seize the day, suck the meat off the bone, lick your fingers, lustfully, smell the sun on your skin, passionately live. Finding my breath, frustration and joy in making that airplane for my son was living. I held a flurry of thoughts in that moment. I calculated the death rate of different countries from COVID, puzzling over curves that may take years to sort out, I wished I could grey in that really polished sexy way, not a five year old art project disheveled kind of way. I was also awed that I might actually be smarter than a fifth grader. Just maybe. Making the F-18 was a gentle reminder to laugh at myself. Ultimately my monkey mind and floating thoughts were of no consequence because it was my son’s dimples that made me alive and human. Besides, my planes flew the farthest - so suck it fifth grader. Shit, I’ve got to color my hair and when the fuck do I get off this hamster wheel?
My sincerest wish for your peace, health and happiness. While I’d like to say we’re in this together I don’t believe that to be true. In that spirit I can earnestly say that I really want it to be true in the future and hope we all fight for that world. Thanks for reading.
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Go forth break bread: Mongolian Beef. A tip for those of you new to crockpots or instant pots, add the veggies about 1/2 hour (excluding onion of course) before serving. Toss in some broccoli. That way they don’t get soft and mushy. I hate that.
