Well folks, as of 11:59pm last night… Sacramento, California is officially on lockdown.
It’s insane to watch how media outlets handle a flu-like virus, and rapidly fire off mass hysteria. It’s bewildering to know what it feels like being a part of this moment in history. And please don’t fool yourself into thinking this isn’t a big deal, because the bloodshed has yet to come… it is precisely this:
An event in history.
Though the repercussions will be fresh in the next decade, our “new normal” will bring cause for rewriting of history books, giving in to including 2020, the year that shut down the world.
As of midnight, our city is on strict order to stay in our homes, with the exception of basic needs. No large gatherings, no sports, no concerts, no shopping, no American Dream Freedom.
We are in the beginning stages of learning how to truly survive.
In our smug ignorance, we have grown so accustomed to simple luxuries, that our world has forgotten how easily we humans can be taken down.
This entire shitshow has been… humbling.
I say this from my back porch looking over the water, with my laptop, cup of coffee, and a smeared bagel. I say this, because I am grateful. Grateful to be alive, grateful to enjoy this tranquility, grateful to have this time at home with my family.
And in case you’re looking for a reason this happened, someone to blame, I’ll let you in on a little secret: it’s my fault.
You okay? Did you just spit out your coffee? Still with me?
Good. Now let me explain.
No, I didn’t create and release a deadly virus on the world to exact my revenge on anyone. Instead, I had a midlife crisis. I’ve been going through an entire life haul since last summer. I gutted my career path, I dropped all my beliefs, I’ve let my virtues fly onward after holding on so tightly for nearly 30 years. It’s been a freaking roller coaster on two wheels with loose screws barely hanging on. I feel like I’ve been out of my mind, and I’m honestly a little curious as to why my family hasn’t intervened. But it’s been exhilarating nonetheless.
But the past few months, I have struggled, mentally. I’ve been struggling with finding the right consistent clients, instead of surviving off the one job oddball clients. Not that I’m not grateful for the single jobs, they still keep us moving. But wondering if maybe I’m missing something fundamental here, some block of learning that I missed. I’ve been wondering if maybe this type of writing is not what I’m built for. And so, I turned to the one person I’ve avoided since childhood. I turned to God.
It’s been a ROUGH relationship.
When I was younger, I went to church. I loved it. I loved the message, I loved feeling safe after the abuse I went through with my biological dad, I loved having a social place to gather. I joined the youth group, I began singing lessons from the choir director (they unfortunately didn’t quite take), and I spent more time with my bible than I ever had before. It was exactly how church was supposed to feel, until it wasn’t. The church I attended began to evolve into, let’s say, a most exclusive atmosphere. I was pushed into attending more often than I could, pressured into bringing in my friends, and guilted when I joined cheerleading, because it took away time from the church. It was great, until it wasn’t. And that experience greatly damaged my relationship with God. It’s been on a steady decline since.
I held on for a long time my belief that God exists, because God is a fundamental concept that I grew up with. But in the past few years, I have challenged him, I’ve yelled at him, I’ve questioned how he could let so much bad happen in the world, how he could let it happen to me, a child he loved so much… and when I didn’t get an answer, I slowly stopped believing.
I’ve had so many more questions ever since, and seemingly nowhere to turn to. I am not a blind faith person; it’s not in my nature. I need to know answers to questions I have (and I have loads). I am not a person that can accept what just is.
And then one day, I had a thought.
What if he did it on purpose?
What if God built me to ask and find my own answers on purpose, not to challenge my belief in him, but because my mind is relentless, and I will evolve for greater purpose? This thought was the perfect catalyst to repair my relationship with God. Truthfully, it came as a relief, to find my way back. Losing my belief just felt… false.
I broke down in tears one day in February, and begged God to help me. I felt lower than I ever have, and on the brink of failure, I sobbed like a madwoman, begging for a sign that he’s there.
And then came Oliver.
I was spending some time working in San Francisco, during what will now be known to me as an essential time of growth in my life, when Oliver came into my life for a chat. I swear, God sent an actual living angel to me. His very style was calm and ethereal. I won’t go into detail here what our entire conversation entailed, but I will give you the gist. We spoke about everything I’ve been afraid of, and what it means. We spoke about having the courage to face my fears, my failures, and my shortcomings. He challenged me to allow my courage to lead me in dark times of questioning, and allow myself to feel my emotions. To use them as a guide for what comes next. I cried to a complete stranger. Really, deeply cried from my soul. He was so gentle and patient with me, and by the end of our talk, I felt lighter, and recharged. I hugged him, and he gave me a two dollar bill to keep in my wallet, to think about him and our talk any time I felt this struggle again. I still have it, and I smile everytime I look at it.
I tell you this story of how I met Oliver, because it put me firmly back in my walk of faith.
Sounds cool, but how does it relate?
Hold on, I’m getting there. Much like the nine year storyline of How I Met Your Mother, this point takes time.
After that meeting with Oliver, I started talking to God more than ever. Still, I have not picked up a bible, but instead I have been learning from his children. I have wallowed in tears more days than I can count, asking for signs, praying for guidance, wishing for more time to write what I am meant to write.
I’m not upset about this journey. I’m grateful, really. I’ve been struggling so hard with feeling like I’m not cut out for this particular area of writing. I keep thinking, I’ve been in such a rut, stuck on a wheel of endless bill paying that I don’t even have time to write for me. I know, I know. We’re adults now, and that’s just how life is.
Except, it isn’t. That’s how our society is.
Life was given to us to enjoy, to challenge us, to allow us room to evolve. It was not given to us to struggle, to fear survival. We were meant to be happy, and do the things that bring us the most joy.
I prayed to God for the opportunity to write, and that’s exactly what he gave me. This may sound selfish, and that’s okay. This pandemic is for me. It is a gift for me. I asked for the one thing we cannot control, I asked for time. And He gave it to me. He literally shut down the world to force me into writing. Bills have been suspended, our neighborhood has quieted, our people are connecting. I have been given purpose, and I have been given time. WE have been given time.
Take it.
Take this lesson, take this opportunity, take this moment. It is my gift to you, in the midst of my humbling midlife crisis.
I shut down the world. Or rather, the world has shut down for me.
