Friday Dispatch: Mundane and Momentous
Friday Dispatch: Mundane and Momentous
Marking 10 years of marriage
Friday greetings,
A few mornings ago, M.J. came to say hello to me in my office upstairs. I was sitting at my desk feeling slightly paralyzed, with too many things to do, a 90-minute window ahead of me, and the familiar risk that I would fritter it away rather than accomplish any of the many tasks on my to-do list. This is, as I said, a familiar state.
“Have you done your time blocks?”
I knew they would ask me that! I told them no, adding that this sounded like another thing to do. They didn’t look convinced. I opened my Google calendar. I looked at the day ahead. No more clients, but I did have therapy in Northampton, which because it’s a 30-minute drive would take up a chunk of the afternoon.
OK, they said, what do you want to tackle first? Writing for my Tuesday group, I told them, and then I can work on my JSP Practicum proposal. Great, they said. And make sure you carve out enough time for lunch.
I dutifully put in a 30-minute block to write and a 60-minute block for my practicum proposal, the September 28 due date for which is creeping up. The procrastination has been hellacious. Then I wrote EAT, 12:00-12:30.
I showed them the passage from Exodus that I have to practice reading for my Hebrew class. Wow, they said, looking at the block of scripture. I collapsed a little in my chair. How am I going to do all of this?
You’re not, they said. You’re only going to be doing one thing. And you aced your quiz last night. You’re doing great!
I smiled appreciatively as they headed back downstairs.
Is this not what I tell other people, to break it down, to start, keep going, use a timer, don’t forget to breathe? Yes and yes and yes (and yes).
I paused then, realizing I had 20 minutes left to devote to writing. I thought about the matching rings we ordered from an Israeli artist for our 10th anniversary. I glanced at my phone and resisted the urge to look at my email. I heard cars going by. I felt myself quieting.
Lying in bed the other night, they looked over at me and asked what I was thinking. I’d been thinking about the last ten years and wondering what the next decade will bring. I feel hesitant to put anything on paper, which is terribly superstitious of me. Or maybe it’s not so much superstition as a sense that there is no need to forecast or anticipate.
Lately, I’ve had a joke about predicting the future: I will peer into my crystal ball, and it will tell me, unequivocally… something will happen.
I’ve borrowed (co-opted?) this invaluable three-word phrase from a Sharon Salzberg talk. And I find it especially helpful lately. We think we know what will happen, but the truth is, of course, we never know. All we can do is steady our aim and release our bows. When I slow down to the speed of one thing at a time, things become less insurmountable and more imaginable. Sure, there is a lot, but, perhaps ironically, this reflects more focus in my life, not less.
When M.J. asked me what I was thinking about and I told them “the last ten years and the next ten years,” I was also saying, I am thinking about everything.
I am thinking about all the chapters, phases, meltdowns, miracles, outings, innings, high points, low points, comings, goings, trials, and tribulations of our first decade of marriage. I am thinking about the things that felt unbearably hard and the things that strengthened us, the rocks against which we sharpened our commitment to each other, the tides that carried us to shore, the moons that waxed and waned as we cycled through so many spirals of growth, apart and together. I am thinking about how much older we will be in another 10 years, how the hot flashes will have stopped and Gd willing I’ll become a rabbi after all these years of longing. There will undoubtedly be heartache and (another Gd-willing) celebrations, and the momentous and the mundane will all continue to mingle and blur. In the end (if there is such a thing), memory has a way of crystallizing sometimes the most unlikely moments.
They take care of me by asking, Have you done your time blocks? I take care of them by saying, I’m on my way home, need anything? At night, we watch the Sopranos and talk about our kids’ unfolding lives and do Tarot readings. We order ridiculously beautiful rings to mark the occasion on September 27. We trust, trust, trust that we will keep finding our way forward.
Because something always happens.
It’s a good idea to slow down along the way, remember to breathe, cross your Ts and dot your Is, and step outside to say hello to the sky as your steadfast witness, our witness.
Ah. Witness.
Somehow that’s it. What began as a ramble about being overwhelmed delivers me to a word as unexpected as it is somehow inevitable.
I stepped outside of myself for a moment to stand in the doorway. I saw myself sitting at my desk, typing away. I looked cute in my new Longmeadow Pride sweatshirt, curls still drying after a shower. I smiled. Look at you, I said quietly to myself. You’re doing it. One thing at a time.
Shabbat Shalom and love,
Jena
p.s. Because of our actual anniversary and my parents’ move next week, there will be no Dispatch on Friday, September 27.
NEXT WEEK: Please join me for Writing Into the Days of Awe
This gathering will offer a time to make room for spiritual introspection in preparation for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.
Register here or scroll down for details.
Together, we will consider what this period means to us, generating prompts and spending time writing and sharing (sharing is always optional!).
The workshop has no agenda other than creating a space for each participant to do your own quiet listening and writing in a kind and gentle container.
No special writing or Jewish background is required.
DATE: Wednesday, September 25
TIME: 12:00 - 1:30pm EST
PLACE: Zoom
COST: $54/$108/$180
No one will be turned away for financial reasons. If you'd like to come but this is not accessible to you, please reach out.
I love this, as usual. I don't know how you do it, but I love that you do DO it, Jena. Express what's universal so uniquely and meaningfully. Thank you. (I stopped working on my to-do list to read your Dispatch. Distraction? Nourishment? I choose the latter!)