November Reflection

It’s the beginning of December, and once again, I’m reflecting on the past month and all I have learned. I’m using Emily P. Freeman’s three guiding questions/statements from her monthly newsletter to help me consider how I’ve lived the last month and how I want to enter this one. I flip through the pages of my journal and remember how it felt, the tensions and sorrows and sweet joys. I’m finding this practice to be renewing and refreshing as the pages of my notebook reveal things more significant than I realized, or things I’d already tried to forget, and guide me to keep learning how to live this life well.

Joe and me a couple of years ago, in a favorite restaurant.

1. Name something you miss.

I miss wandering through a store slowly, touching everything, with a hot Starbucks cup in my hand. I miss sitting in the car with Kristi after we’ve spent a Friday night shopping, eating birthday cake popcorn by the handful and laughing the way we do. I miss casual hugs and spur-of-the-moment trips to Nashville for hot chicken, good shopping, and Trader Joe’s. I miss restaurants at noon on a Saturday, a Styrofoam cup of Diet Coke beside me and words tumbling from my kids’ mouths as they tell stories from the week and thoughts that are only inspired by this place, relaxing in a booth with cardboard containers of French fries in their hands.

I guess the takeaway from this is that I really miss casual fun that comes from following the moment, and lots of junk food that I don’t always keep in my house.

My son saves all the old Post-Its he uses to mark his piano book pages.

2. What was a moment of celebration in November?

Every Tuesday afternoon, I curl up on my couch with a bowl of something salty and a Diet Coke (I’ve cut back, but there’s still probably too much of this drink in my life) and listen to my kids take piano lessons. This fall, they’re taking lessons over Skype, and it’s been fantastic. Their teacher is fun, kind, and so encouraging. She works to find songs they want to play and builds them up every week. This afternoon, my son was bursting to have the first lesson because he had prepared a surprise for her--he had practiced almost every Christmas song in his book, although he had officially only been working on a couple, and then he proudly put on his own little concert for her. It took over half of his lesson, and she cheered him on every step of the way.

I will never get tired of celebrating learning, the way kids take ownership of it, and the excellent teachers who love them and lead them so well.

3. Name something you hope for in December.

I hope for more connection.

I’ve been really lonely lately, and one of the ways I recognize that is that I’ve become really critical. Excess criticism is a sign of disconnection for me; when you are with people and know them, you want to cheer them more than find excuses to be annoyed. 

Over the summer, we really took advantage of virtual ways to meet with people: FaceTime, Zoom, lots of Voxer. After the school year started, much of that has faded. The kids and I are busy again, and the fall is Joe’s craziest time for work. Both work and school take extra mental energy now. I didn’t really even register just how lonely I was until around Thanksgiving, when our schools closed, and the echo of empty halls and the silence of my computer screen became very loud in my head.

So I’m taking baby steps back toward connection. For the last couple of nights after the kids were in bed, Joe and I have spent some time talking. Not laughing softly over a Christmas movie, or sitting shoulder to shoulder while on our phones or while I’m typing--just talking about everything in the world and nothing at all. Talking to Joe is like that first sip of coffee in the morning--invigorating and comforting. His voice sounds like a hug, and he listens like nobody else.

In this strange year, I am hardly the only one feeling a little disconnected. Maybe the best way to end your own loneliness is to end someone else’s. In December, I hope to let the people who matter to me know that they matter, and to remind them that however we get together, I’m still there for them.

I don’t know how you’re feeling right now, or if you’re reflecting on any of the same things. But this practice of reflection that I’m slowly starting to cultivate helps me, and it might help you too. It reminds me of who I am, the good and the bad, and to give grace to myself as I grow. It reminds to give grace to others too, as they are all holding something that I don’t know, but that maybe I could help carry.