July wonderings

Summer has always been the season of introspection for me. As a kid I would spend a week every year at Christian summer camp, which would inevitably bring times of inner contemplation (and guilt), motivational speeches, and a renewed commitment to living my best life. This emotional high usually wore off by mid September, but I could count on camp for hitting the reset button every July. (Cue “Awesome God” and “Every Move I Make” worship songs.)

Sometimes I wonder if that pattern conditioned me to take extra time post-camping years for reflection, analysis, and, yes, guilt. Sitting in the sunshine, hiking in the woods, walks along the beach--all summer activities that bring nature’s invitation to breathe and think. Evenings after the kids are asleep to watch the sun sink beneath the horizon and wonder. I wonder hard, and this summer seems extra hard. The wondering is spiraling on the edge of cyclical negativity, exhaustion, both physical and emotional, and reduced energy for mothering three little boys.

It isn’t fair to deal with depression in the summertime. Especially where we live in upstate NY. I get enough of SAD the 7 months of winter thank you very much. No, now it’s sunny and warm, with brilliant colors all around and gentle breezes to keep you comfortable. There are evening walks for ice cream, extra time for leisurely solitary strolls (or hard runs), and fresh produce everywhere you turn. That I would want to hunker down on the couch with my Kindle, a blanket, and the promise of uninterruption for weeks on end seems utterly ridiculous. I’m fighting back hard, but this is where my energy level lies. 

I’m sure that feeling burned out is an understandable state of being, seeing as we’re still in the thick of a pandemic after all. Still, it isn’t a burnout brought about from frantic scheduling, tag-teaming with babysitters, holiday church services to execute, and recital season. It’s a burnout I’ve never experienced before, and boy does it bring about the wonderings.

I see more than ever how introverted and sensitive of a personality I have. The longer I do the adulting thing the more I realize I’m much more like my 3 year old self than I’ve admitted. Recharging on my own isn’t optional. (But try doing that quarantined at home with a husband and three kids!)  Group projects are exhausting. I don’t like wasting productive time in the name of dysfunctional teamwork. Small talk is wearisome. I hate being on the phone. I rely on positive affirmation more than I’d like to admit. All of these things are out of whack at my current place of employment, largely due to COVID.

Here are a few less negative observations/realizations:

• I’m happier and more productive working in solitude.
• I prefer to work hard in the morning and afternoon and keep my evenings unscheduled and at home.
• Cooking and baking aren’t just fun--they’re meditative.
• The more I exercise the better I feel. Getting a daily 30 minute workout (bare minimum) is not optional.
• I have a handful of kindred spirit friends. If that. And that’s enough. I used to think I needed lots of friends to be “normal.” I don’t think that anymore. 

• I have the best husband in the whole wide world. I mean, the BEST. But sometimes I need a break to be completely by myself.
• As great as it is to find a time and a place for quiet, finding a time and a place to be in charge of my own decisions is even more restorative.

Continuing to reflect, read, exercise like mad, eat crazy-healthy, take my meds, try to get enough sleep (my body is betraying me here), and all that good stuff. Because, you know, winter’s coming. Best to soak up the sun while it’s here.

Time to kiss the babies goodnight and tuck them in. They really are such wonderful kiddos--every day, while exhausting, is filled with their laughter and explorations and love. Let’s end things on a sweet note tonight. Tomorrow is another day with no mistakes in it.