Living through Both/And

One of my favourite pastimes as a child was make-believe play. I dreamt up stories upon stories of worlds, plot lines and characters. So, with three floors of rooms swinging out into a blank canvas before me, my toy Lego mansion was a go-to medium for imagination. I could spend hours prone on the floor with that plastic house of opportunity in front of me. I spent most of the time planning, building, writing and setting the scene until the final story design came together. By the time I finished building and prepping I was content with ending my Lego mansion playtime. I didn’t need to act out the story. The process of creating it was enough. I remember wondering to myself whether I was doing it wrong. Was I missing out on what play was supposed to be?

While I didn’t have words for it at the time, I now know I had an instinctive appreciation for the journey and the process – a gem that’s been easy to forget as an adult. Of course I was not playing wrong because there isn’t such a thing. It was an example of patiently being present to the moment. I knew the joy of planning and creating behind the scenes. I have grown-up versions of the same behaviour, often reserved for hobbies like meticulously decorating cakes and cookies, or re-organizing my coloured pencils into their correct order before working on my SoulCoats colouring book. But I can’t pretend that I find joy in every process.

There are some deeper life lessons that seem to beg relearning. Living in our current pandemic context only highlights this. When I am hoping to make a change in my life, finding joy in the process is not an easy perspective to see through. It is not my gut reaction. Whatever change it may be, I find myself willing the next phase to arrive immediately. This has never been truer than right now. This is the in-between. This is a shoulder season. I have forgotten my ability to enjoy the process; to find beauty and creativity in the prepping and planning. I’m impatient. I’m stuck. I want to rush ahead of the discomfort and pain. I want more certainties and fewer unknowns. Instead, I find myself forced to reconcile with a hard truth: Full, vibrant living is found in the in-between, shoulder season moments. Well, ’tis the season! Despite being introduced to this truth many times over, I haven’t yet grown to fully accept it. To practice finding joy and contentment in the midst of difficulty seems impossible right now. It sounds like minimizing our collective losses. It feels like saying, “It’s ok! I’m happy to stay right here.” Finding joy in the now feels like letting go of dreams. It is downright backwards and in contrast with our status quo understanding of “happiness”. If you’re unhappy, make a change, right? Work harder = be successful; have money/things/accolades = be happy. Accepting an unhappy situation seems senseless. Yet, I know learning to find joy in the process of living is the answer. Joy answers grief. Not happiness, joy – there is a difference. To me, joy is about finding moments of beauty; seeing the bigger picture; slowing down and tuning in. It is based on the internal experience rather than external factors. As I have been learning over and over again, life is not lived in either/or. It is almost always both/and. Living fully, vibrant life is both/and. It is grief, sorrow, discomfort AND beauty, joy and love. It is giving ourselves and each other permission to feel all those things. It is preparing and planning and enjoying the moment while we remember our new/renewed and unrealized dreams. We’re in the midst of this tough, painful shoulder season, and it’s full of chaos. It is also full of opportunity, as crass as the idea may sound. Even when it’s an uphill challenge, I must tune in to the present. I must find ways to carry joy along with grief.

Today, as I recalled childhood playtime memories, I remembered the importance of presence. We have a canvas in front of us. We can redefine for ourselves what success looks like in our intra- and post-pandemic lives. We have opportunity to support one another; to slow down and tune-in; to re-organize and sharpen; to remember how to imagine; to rest. It’s in the waiting that we grow and build and create. It’s in this season that we quiet, envision and beautify. Yes, even in this season of grief and struggle.