Oh, What a Year

Day 19 in the @BestSelfCo Edison Deck Challenge looks at the past and asks for reflection on 10 things you've learned about yourself in the past year. There's nothing like un unprecedented global pandemic to shake things up. In many ways I feel like I am still learning, changing, discovering, and sifting. Here are the first 10 things that came to mind (and I felt brave enough to share).

1. Introverts have a limit to aloneness. Most people know that I am a driven introvert and a tireless advocate for showing that introverts are much more than the aloof hermits that extroverts imagine them to be. As a refresh on the difference: extroverts gain their energy from other people and social interaction; introverts gain their energy from access to quiet reflection. Hands down, the introverts have navigated the stay-at-home orders, work from home, study from home better than extroverts but I learned there is a limit to what any introvert can endure. The ability to see people, have a conversation that is in real time and space, and to experience human touch whether it is a hug, European brush of a kiss on the cheek(s), or a handshake has taken on much greater significance and power. I learned that as entertaining the company of "me", "myself", and "I" can be, even my introvert needs a bigger universe.

2. I prefer 3D. With the pandemic the explosion of digital business solutions, entertainment, and medical services on the 2D screen (be it big, medium, or small) promised to be the solution. Not only was it more efficient and for many businesses, more profitable, it was a new way of working and living that would give our 3D world honest competition. Generations of all ages adapted (did we have a choice?), learned how to navigate between Teams, Zoom, and WebEx with apparent ease, set up alerts that beeped and buzzed at all hours of the day and night, and entered what seemed to be a 24/7 digital reality show much more competitive than "Survivor". Alliances, devils' bargains, and cut-throat decisions that used to be done in back offices and secrecy now proliferated onto social networking platforms, elections, medical advisories, and were normalized under the banner "Never let a good crisis go to waste". My experience is that "good crisis" mantra is a code phrase to authorize unethical or unbecoming behavior in the hope that it won't be noticed amidst the chaos of the said crisis/pandemic. I learned that there is real value of looking someone in the 3D eye, detecting the depth of someone's character and their ability to be transparent. That's something that is just not possible when someone is staring into their iPhone while pretending to be present and onscreen on their laptop or iPad. Quite frankly, people are more thoughtful, kinder, and more readable when they aren't hiding behind a screen.

3. I am mission driven without apology. Someone gave me the book Devil's Bargain by Joshua Green chronicling the worlds of Steve Bannon, Donald Trump and a cast of other character-flawed individuals. I didn't read it as I was committed to not give any space or energy to the mindset of greed, dogma, and corruption. But, I had long been familiar with the concept of the devil's bargain, how such a Faustian lust for unlimited knowledge and worldly pleasures for the price of one's soul showed up in ancient texts, literature, opera, and common language. All represent giving up one's divine purpose (the good we are put on this earth to do) for the easy route. Taking a bigger paycheck but giving up independence and the freedom to voice an alternate solution, promising to put art first and then being expected to sidestep and put artists out of work, promising to love they neighbor then refusing to take steps during a pandemic to keep all our neighbors healthy. In the last year, I learned it's possible to say "no" when your values are compromised. It feels good and it doesn't need any type of modifier that looks like an apology.

4. I am privileged and have a deep calling to change how I approach issues of race, equity, and inclusion. As a white woman, this past year has taught me what privilege looks like no matter how many generations removed I may be. Society put that crown on my head despite my many personal struggles, injustices, and times of suffering. It is a privilege that isn't extended to other non-white individuals. I have people of color in my life that have been patient teachers, listeners, and friends. There is no discomfort that I feel as a white person that comes even close to the everyday experiences of the non-white person. That has resonated as the pandemic exposed how most people in power do not see people that are not like themselves, highlighted the many amongst us who chose to abandon relationships and logic for conspiracies, and uncovered the "invisibility" of so many that bear the yoke of historical inequity and racially rigged scales of justice. Awareness is a first step, but the subsequent steps of anger, action and change continue to beckon. I have learned that I have so much more to do.

5. I am not invincible, but I am indefatigable. I've always been resilient, it's part of my upbringing. My baby book only has a few sentences and describing me as a "warrior" is one of them. In April 2021, in a few seconds on the tail-end of a hike, I slipped and fell. I heard a loud crack and experienced unbearable, dizzying pain in my right shoulder. Long story short, in my sixth decade of life, I experienced my first bone fracture. And what a doozy it has been. I share this physical detail as a symbol of what indefatigable looks like. It's rising when for all acceptable reasons, you should stay pinned to the ground in pain. It's not giving up when a jury of your peers (and non-peers) say that you should. It's doing what you said you would do even when others make it easy for you to change your mind or your story. It's continuing to be a learner when it's more popular to be a preacher or a captain of industry. It's tackling new experiences with the enthusiasm of a child, but not pounding the table (or your proverbial head against the wall) when you make mistakes. Learning and growth happens only when you are humble enough to fail. It's the giving it another go that defines indefatigable. With that said, all those foresaid characteristics, doesn't mean that I won't become a target of ego or hubris. I've learned in this past year, what it feels like to be targeted, to be expected to stay in my "lane" (a class and gender focused phrase that has suprisingly achieved acceptability), and how being vulnerable can be a super power in the right situation. Being indefatigable also has allowed me to sleep better at night. I always recognize who is staring back at me when I look in the mirror.

6. I am a dog person and a cat person. I think I was 18 years old the last time I was in a household that included a dog. Since then, I've considered myself a cat person. Cats are easier to navigate during career building and child rearing years due to their aloofness and independence. They seek their own exercise and entertainment, and my cats never responded to an attempt at a conversation. They may have lifted an eyebrow, but they always seemed to be above it all. But traversing the pandemic while being isolated from friends and family changed that. Yes, I brought a COVID puppy into my life. A high-energy miniature Australian shepherd named Luka to be specific. We've taken on being social together (something I felt slipping away at record pace). I've learned how to experience joy in a single moment of unconditional love and how to communicate differently. And I'm happily learning to use all my negotiating skills brokering peace between the canine instinct and the feline ways in our newly united household.

7. I care about our planet and people. Both are worth saving. I just finished Anthony Doerr's book Cloud Cuckoo Land that magically weaves worlds that span the 15th century during the fall of Constantinople, the Korean War and being a gay prisoner of war, the present highlighting the conflict between capitalism and environmental activism, and the future with an expedition leaving a dying Earth to find life on a new planet. The characters emerge as people worth fighting for, each one of them tied to nature in a way that changed them and their lives. Doerr shows how both nature and people are capable of betrayal and leaving destruction in their wake. But who we are as people is in our hands. Every day we decide whether to betray each other and/or our planet. The future of our planet is currently being debated and feels a bit like the "Hunger Games" trilogy with the false idiom, "May the odds be ever in your favor." I've learned in the last year that there is no such thing as false hope, only hope. And every refusal to give up, every commitment, and every movement begins with hope. I learned that history is a powerful teacher regarding humanity and our planet. Both are deserving of hopeful heroes.

8. I am happiest in the creative mode. I've spent much of my career in a management role, giving up my creative training to manage people, things, projects, etc. Creativity is defined as the use of imagination or original ideas to create solutions. That can be art and/or the many things that mediocrity can't fathom or embrace. When managers get creative, they are often ridiculed and pressured to conform, to follow a prescribed path, and to do as those with power dictate. (Note to those in power, and I count myself as one: take a gut check on how you may be stifling creativity.) During the pandemic, many bright spots came from creators that understood that the best way to battle hopelessness and the unknown was with imagination. Personally, I tapped into my creativity both in the workplace and in shelter-in-place. I combined writing, painting, and seed germination to create a sanctuary to protect my sanity. When I was forced to choose between management and happiness, I chose the path that provided the widest berth to creativity. That is how I became one of the estimated 4.3 million U.S. workers (one in four) that left their jobs during the pandemic in search of something more fulfilling and creative. I learned that happiness breeds creativity and vice versa.

9. Friends weren't created by social media platforms. I have amazing friends. I don't have to worry about whether they "like" me, my politics, or increase the value of the relationship by their influence. My friends show up in person without artifice (and when it wasn't safe to do so, they showed up in video chats, by phone call, and renewed old-fashioned letter writing and postcard sending traditions.) Real friends miss making a real connection, understand that a walk, a coffee, or a meal during the pandemic has become an "elevated event" as anticipated as a favorite holiday, precious and never pedestrian. Friends are a noun (not a verb) that are vulnerable, honest, and forgiving. And they don't take the easy way out when times get hard by clicking a "mute" or "unfriend" button. Friends aren't entertainment (although they can be entertaining), they aren't an echo chamber, and they aren't here to comment on or monetize Instagramable moments. Real friends see something in me that I don't see in myself, and their impact is constant, never fleeting. The permanence of friendship doesn't rely on frequency, it is there no matter how long the separation. No algorithm can change that. I learned that there is no platform that can replace real friendships.

10. I like rituals and the transformation they offer. In order to not go stir-crazy during my multiple shelter-in-place periods I found the power of rituals. Rituals provide structure and the ability to predict something in the face of uncertainty. My rituals included reading the Sunday New York Times with a freshly baked Trader Joe's almond croissant and solving the crossword puzzle before the week was out. I celebrated holidays such as Thanksgiving, a signature birthday, close family celebrations and anniversaries, Mother's Day, and other life events over Zoom and/or by downsizing a meal for a party of one. I planted seeds in the spring and transferred them to my balcony hopeful for a harvest. I gave my orchids a frozen fertilizer ice cube weekly and had bountiful blooms and reblooms. I made a new "mixed tape" playlist monthly, using music to express the emotions I could and couldn't name. I even made a mix tape for my dog Luka with the themes "sit, stay, rollover", etc. It was John Irving who said, "Rituals are comforting; rituals combat loneliness." That they do. They transform the unknown into something familiar and isolation into discovery. It's like living the movie "Groundhog Day" while searching for the transcending cipher. I've learned to do both.