On Sunday night, my girlfriend got a text from a childhood friend asking if we’d be home for a delivery. “I know it’s only 5, but we’re in our pjs,” we responded laughing. Look. It was a long week. I can’t believe we left the house last weekend.
A few minutes later, we opened our front door to see several bags of groceries as bright headlights shined through the storm door. “I love you guys,” our friend Mary shouted from the open car door. “I gotta go.” As we brought each of the very full bags inside, we stared in shock. Overwhelmed by the generosity.
Inside of those bags were more snacks than I can begin to list from memory. Flowers. Incense. Pumpkin coffee creamer. All from Trader Joe’s. I’m not saying snacks fix everything, but for a gluten free and mostly dairy free household? The ones from TJ’s fix a lot. The wine from my buddy Scott didn't hurt either.
Then, a card with a note to remind us to take care of ourselves. In all caps along the bottom, the words: “right now it's like this.”
The phrase comes from Buddhism and is one of the few phrases my girlfriend has tattooed on her body. It’s a mantra we went back to often in van life when things seemed wild and the plans were up in the air. If we didn’t know what to say and couldn’t conjure enough energy to laugh about it? We went back to our knowing. Right now, it's like this.
As humans, we have a collective commonality to panic a little when we don’t know what’s next. That’s natural. We survived all this time doing predictable things. The only tried and true weapon in the arsenal to conquer this fear of not knowing? Maybe it’s not one size fits all. But for me? It’s acceptance. I have to remember that I have a 100% successful record of figuring out my hard shit.
If you’re reading this, you do too. You’re sitting around reading blogs about feelings, after all.
Last week was one of those times when I felt completely overwhelmed by not knowing what’s next. Pretty sure 70 million or so people were feeling it, too. We were looking for answers - from God and each other. Something to read. Something to know. I had a few messages come in asking what my letter would be about. Ultimately, I decided not to write one. I needed to practice acceptance first. Because with perspective I know that even in this collective unsettled feeling, today is just one day. It’s not forever. Someday it’ll be just a memory.
But right now, it's like this.
