Porridge and Pedestals

I was looking for something before the pandemic hit. I didn’t know that I was looking though. I never stopped long enough to figure out that I was lost.

It took the world coming to a halt for me to stop and sit in my personal mush. My life’s porridge, keeping my belly full but not truly satisfied. Now that I was forced to pay attention to this squishy, slimy sludge, I could see that I was being sucked in like quicksand, but at least I had the time to slowly, methodically pull myself out. It wasn’t as difficult as I imagined it would be, but like a sweater stored in a closet for much too long, I imagined I reeked of mothballs when I first emerged. God knows, I needed airing out.

I did some organizing, I painted my kitchen cupboards with my daughters’ help, I took some walks to get out of the house. And then time just … slowed…down...

Standing six feet apart from the next person in line paying for their gas, and learning to be patient as they slathered sanitizer over their hands, as I awaited my turn to tell the attendant that I didn’t need a copy of my receipt. Then leaving the store and realizing I
probably won’t need to go back for gas again until near the end of spring.

The slow and awkward motions and strange, belabored pauses borne from the pandemic made it easier for me to give myself permission to do some things just for myself. I booked some nights and weekends away at a bed and breakfast, a campground and a "salt pod" in Woody Point. I packed books, paints, pens, paper and the bare necessities, and little to no guilt, on each trip. When I look back now, I’m pleasantly surprised that I gave myself such gifts without conditions.

My greatest gift last year was signing up for a storytelling workshop with Donna Morrissey at the Heritage Theatre in Woody Point during the summer. I met wonderful people, learned more about writing and storytelling, and worked on developing my own story, one that I had cultivated periodically through the years. I didn’t just create relationships with new people during this time, but I also resurrected my relationship with my story characters.

During the workshop, I realized that I am a huge part of the fictional characters I write about in so many ways. A few participants from the workshop sometimes referred to me as Lucy, the main character of the story I submitted at the workshop. I remember remarking that Lucy was not a real person, I wasn’t actually Lucy. But I soon realized that, maybe, they weren’t really wrong. During some of the writing exercises we did in the group, it became clearer to me that I shared my heart with Lucy, and we were bursting from the seams!

At the end of the workshop, I had the privilege of sharing my short story on stage, something I had never done before in my life. When I read for the covid-masked crowd in the theater, once the initial butterflies left me, I was filled with every bit of the feeling and passion of Lucy. The experience was freeing, and the applause afterwards was humbling. It seemed a deadly virus somehow had helped to breathe life back into me when I never even knew it
had escaped.

The pandemic experience has gotten me to prioritize self-care and has birthed stories from within me that have either sat dormant, or had no lining thick enough for implantation to take hold. I have become reacquainted with parts of myself that were not fully realized in the past. And I like it.

I recently read a quote: you can’t knock a woman off a pedestal that she built herself. It really captured what I think I have been doing for the past year. I’m building up something for the first time, after having torn myself down so many times throughout my life.

I never really thought of it as a pedestal, but it makes sense. A pedestal is a base, a support, it provides a foundation for something or someone valuable to stand upon solidly and be seen. Now that I am building this sturdy foundation for myself, I do not want to get lost again. I don’t want to hide away anymore.

I have continued to write and read regularly, despite the ups and downs of this kaleidoscope of chaos we are living in right now. I still occasionally get my toes sticky with porridge, just enough to give myself a little jolt and remind me that I’m still building my pedestal, one block, one story, at a time.

It is strange to think that covid has been something of a compass rose for me. I am no longer lost, and I even have a sense of where I want to go and where I am headed.