Coronavirus and Our Collective Grief

What a day. What a week. What a month.

Photo by Rene Asmussen from Pexels

The coronavirus pandemic is exhausting on so many levels. Nerves are fraying, and it’s only the beginning.

We are desperate for someone to fix this situation and return us to the lives we were living a few short weeks ago.

That is the dream.

That is not the reality.

The reality is that this pandemic is not going away any time soon. Our lives are changing. They will likely never be the same. This is very, very scary.

But I came across this article — That Discomfort You’re Feeling is Grief — in The Harvard Business Review of all places, and it has been incredibly helpful in helping me process what is happening.

It features a Q&A with David Kessler, the world’s foremost expert on grief. He co-wrote with Elisabeth Kübler-Ross On Grief and Grieving: Finding the Meaning of Grief through the Five Stages of Loss

This is Kessler’s response when he’s asked if what we’re feeling is grief:

Yes, and we’re feeling a number of different griefs. We feel the world has changed, and it has. We know this is temporary, but it doesn’t feel that way, and we realize things will be different. Just as going to the airport is forever different from how it was before 9/11, things will change and this is the point at which they changed. The loss of normalcy; the fear of economic toll; the loss of connection. This is hitting us and we’re grieving. Collectively. We are not used to this kind of collective grief in the air.

Kessler is spot on. Not since 9/11 have we felt this type of collective grief. It feels foreign, scary, uncomfortable, and it makes us feel vulnerable.

But in the way of the #Woo, Kessler provides us with concrete ways we can deal with this grief and its resulting anxiety by using meditation and mindfulness techniques.

Come into the present, he says.

Let go of what you can’t control, he says.

Stock up on compassion, he says.

And he tells us to name what we’re feeling.

There is something powerful about naming this as grief. It helps us feel what’s inside of us. So many have told me in the past week, “I’m telling my coworkers I’m having a hard time,” or “I cried last night.” When you name it, you feel it and it moves through you. Emotions need motion. It’s important we acknowledge what we go through.

I am in love with those last two sentences, which I bolded.

If mindfulness, meditation, and exploring The Land of the Woo have taught me anything, it’s that burying our feelings and pretending they don’t exist is futile. It’s only through naming our emotions and giving them space that we can take back our power and learn to live with emotions rather than being defined by them.

“It’s absurd to think we shouldn’t feel grief right now,” Kessler says. “Let yourself feel the grief and keep going.”

That is advice I intend to follow as I head into another week of sheltering in place. If you have the time and the energy, I invite you to read the full article.

A Sunset in Paris

Paris Sunset. 2017. Taken by Me.

A few years ago, my husband and I spent a week in Paris, leisurely strolling through the city’s streets and sipping coffee at its cafes.

One night, we decided to eat dinner at a tiny creperie. We got a window seat and ordered crepes and a carafe of cider.

Suddenly, there was a commotion outside. Taxis slowed, scooters stopped, and pedestrians began to congregate on the sidewalk. Some people whipped out phones and started taking pictures. Others drove by and honked. Some pedestrians shielded their eyes.

“What’s happening?” my husband asked me.

While I had a better view than he did, I couldn’t see the cause of the commotion.

“I can’t tell,” I said. “But I’m going to go outside to see.”

Once on the street, I turned to the right and was gobsmacked by a breathtaking view. The setting sun was lined up perfectly between Paris’ low lying apartment complexes and office buildings as it sunk toward the horizon. The unobstructed view created a spotlight effect, where its light was blinding, and its heat was palpable.

The sunset brought the Paris neighborhood we were in to a standstill. Bystanders stood there, enthralled. Passengers asked their taxis to stop. Others jumped off motorcycles to capture the view. Some stood in the intersection with cameras, trying to find the right angle to capture the sun’s stunning display. We were momentarily connected, watching this gift from nature.

A few minutes later, it was over. The sun set. The taxis sped away. I went back to the restaurant. Pedestrian continued their journeys. Paris zoomed back to life.

But I think of that moment now. How everyday occurrences can stop us in our tracks. How nature can be healing. That however diverse we may be, a beautiful sunset can connect us.

In this scary time, we are facing a lot of uncertainty. But every day, the sun rises, and it sets. It can serve as a reminder to pause, to take in its beauty, to breathe deeply, and to remember we are not alone — even if it may feel that way right now.

Woo in the Time of Coronavirus

How can I write about the Woo in a time of coronavirus? How can I not?

Photo by Hernan Pauccara from Pexels

Like most of you, I am in a daze reflecting on the spread of coronavirus, and how much my life has changed in one short week. I am sheltering in place, having loaded up my fridge, freezer, and pantry with food, and my laundry room with detergent, wipes, and soap.

A week ago, we laughed at sheltering in place. This week we know sheltering in place is a stark reality that could last for months.

Where is the Woo in all of this? For me, it is everywhere.

To start, I’ve been craving down time for years. Four years in fact. The past four years have been difficult ones for my family and me as we’ve faced major illnesses, multiple deaths, and unexpected diagnoses. It’s left me drained, especially when I am continually commuting between the East Coast and the West Coast to tend to family needs.

“When will it stop?” I kept asking the Universe as I was repeatedly pulled away from my daily life.

Now, suddenly, in a way no one could have imagined, it is stopping. For the first time in four years, I have no travel plans, no bags I need to pack, no jet lag to adjust to, no rental cars to book.

I am just here.

The result is that my mind is relaxing, releasing, and opening up. Story ideas are flowing to me in ways they haven’t for years. My concentration is rising. I am more productive than I’ve been in months. My meditations are deepening. I feel newly alive and more connected to the earth.

I also feel so much joy for the earth, and what it means for the planet when we keep our cars in the garage and our airplanes on the ground. Will the earth get the break it so desperately needs? Will our patterns of consumption change after spending perhaps months at home, away from stores? Will we think twice about commuting in the same way once our offices reopen? Will we have more flexibility to work from home?

But I also feel sorrow. So much sadness for those who have abruptly lost their jobs and been told to go home, their services no longer needed. Waiters and waitresses and bartenders and baristas and flight attendants and mechanics and retail workers and drivers.

Just like that. No warning. Overnight.

Millions are losing their jobs as shelters-in-place have shut business after business after business. I feel pain for my town of Napa, which thrives on tourism and welcoming others to our city. We have survived drought and fires and rolling blackouts. Now, our livelihood is being snuffed out by a virus that has not yet made itself known in our town.

And I feel so thankful that the Woo brought Jennifer Pastiloff into my life just 10 days ago. As I read her book, she is teaching me that it is possible to feel two things at once. That I can feel joy and sorrow about this virus. That I can be relieved and worried at what is happening. That this situation is good and bad. Life, Jennifer says, is not either/or.

Instead, I’m understanding that we are complicated beings, with complicated feelings, and the coronavirus is the most complicated event I’ve faced in my lifetime. To confront it, I will need to live in the and instead of the either/or.

#WooWoo Wednesdays: Finding a Soul Sister

What a #Woo week it’s been!

Photo by Moose Photos from Pexels

This week did not start off on a high note. I’ve been having trouble writing. This Coronavirus situation is only getting worse (as I write this, it has just reached pandemic status). And even though I am doing my Kegels, my backache hasn’t disappeared. So I turned to Louise Hay’s Heal Your Body guide to see what she had to say about lower back pain:

Fear of Money. Lack of financial support.

Well, damn. Why does Louise have to be spot on?

Money is ALWAYS a trigger for me. It’s even more of a trigger now because I’m in a state of transition. I’ve cut back on my work so I can figure out my next step professionally, but I still judge myself by how much money I make. I know I will make less this year. My husband knows I will make less. But accepting that — instead of being extraordinarily grateful to the Universe that I can do that — has been super hard for me.

To top it off, I am failing at my attempts to practice non-striving. I cannot stop pushing myself to come up with a clear cut strategy for living my best life. Do I want to pursue writing? Do I want to get a meditation degree or certification? Do I want to look into yoga teacher training? I’ve been so distracted by this tug-of-war that I can’t write.

But this week, the Universe showed me it had my back.

Ever since I read Sheri Salata’s book, The Beautiful No, I’ve been listening to the Sheri + Nancy Show podcast. I feel like Sheri and Nancy have become my friends and a valuable source of support. (Ok, yes. That sounds a little creepy.)

But this week’s podcast blew me away. Sheri and Nancy interviewed author Jen Pastiloff. Before yesterday, I’d never heard of Jen. But as of today, she has changed my life.

As I learned about Jen’s life, it sounded amazing. She leads retreats for women all across the globe! She’s a yoga instructor! She’s written a best selling book!

And. She’s. Deaf.

BOOM!

My heart stopped when I heard that. My eyes filled with tears. I had to place a hand on my heart. I’ve been dealing with hearing loss for a decade, and I have let it stop me from living my dreams. In the past few years, I have slowly started to beat back my depression and regain a sense of self through therapy, meditation, the teachings of Abraham Hicks, the work of Dr. Joe Dispenza, and the support of my husband. 

But hearing that Jen — this fabulous, accomplished, inspirational woman — was deaf felt life-changing. There are so many people I look up to in The Land of Woo. But I have yet to meet one who is deaf. You cannot be what you cannot see, and hearing Jen’s story allowed me to finally see myself living a dream life.

My path forward has become a bit more clear. I feel as if I have a soul sister supporting me in this Universe. Perhaps a whole tribe. Listening to that podcast, I felt genuinely complete — and that is something I haven’t felt in a very long time.