What To Do When You Are Not Ready

The new school year threw open its doors a week ago and I am not ready. Usually, I am the type of teacher who enjoys the startup, the thrill and anticipation of setting a space (the environment is the third teacher), getting materials ready, and seeing and hearing from colleagues about summer adventures: this year, no dice. I am unprepared; I do not have the energy needed for the setup. I couldn't tap into my restorative well during the summer months. It doesn't matter why or how, but I couldn't achieve the reset I hoped for. I know I am not alone. The good news is that I know I will get my readiness back when I take some extra steps to build my capacity to begin again, but for now, I am just not ready for the rise of the school sun. And I love sunrise.

Grief is besting me. I'm not particularly eager to sit with sadness for very long. I am not often bothered by sorrow and grief, but they keep slipping into my pockets, and I am forced to sit with them and hold onto them like a worry stone. You may remember how excited I was that I brought a clipping from one of my father's geraniums after he passed. Much to my chagrin, I could not keep the geranium from my dad's garden alive. I tended to it over these last eight months, and it bloomed fully for me twice. I am grateful for the blooms and their lush health. However, I didn't realize it would be short-lived, and now it is gone. There is nothing I can do to keep the geranium alive. And it represents all the same feelings I had about my dad's passing. And it wrecked me.

But the universe is a strange and curious storyteller. While crying about my geranium's untimely passing, I remembered that my first acting role in high school included Mabel Osborne from Edgar Lee Masters' Spoon River Anthology, a short play set in a graveyard. Those who have passed tell about their sufferings. It was rather funny that Mabel's monologue is about a dying geranium and how no one wants to or can keep it alive. 😭 We had a lot of inside jokes about that geranium. And so, even in my sadness today, I had to laugh about this grief. It feels like my father is playing another joke on me. That was his style.

August holds as many endings as it does beginnings. I always say goodbye to my boys as they doff their younger selves and try on an older, more mature look. I have to drive my older son back to his California college in early August, and while it is a sweet (hot) journey, I feel a bit more empty when I return. Beginnings are exciting, but sometimes, having to experience the end of something can hold you back from enjoyment. I often rush right past the ends of things because I fear dwelling on feelings of loss.

So what do we do if we are not ready? We live through it; we allow the experience to settle on our chest for a time. The sun will rise again and again, each day, predictably. It may feel like you are moving in slow motion, but that's because you have time-traveled to the past and are living in another space. When you allow the sadness its berth, you will return to the present. Time will speed up again. You will be ready.

Tonight, I will watch the sunset in real time, read Mabel's monologue to my kids, and make some chocolate chip cookies. We might laugh. We might cry. We will be ready when we are ready.

May you enjoy your new school year, and to those who are not parents or educators, may you delight in the coming of autumn. 🍁

Be well,

🌊 Bridget