There is one theme throughout this change of existence since last March that remains consistent for me each day. A lack of control over the things I always took for granted like being free of anxiety around crowds, meeting friends for a meal, and visiting family without underlying dread that I’m going to make them sick is forcing me to look for other areas in my life where I can hold on tight and feel like I am in charge. Sometimes this works, and sometimes it’s the exact opposite of what I need. Because trying to control something that doesn’t want to be controlled leads to more anxiety and frustration. It can be a downright nasty little cycle that is very hard to get out of.
The busy-ness of life creates in me a permissive force aligned toward chaos. At 40 years old I have finally accepted this about myself. It shows up in different ways- it’s how I eat, how I take care of myself, how I take care of the environment around me. And although life is not busy in the same way it was, there is still a fraught mindset that leads to disorganization. An omelette is an omelette no matter how you fold it. That bag is fine sitting on that chair in the kitchen after work. This hooded sweatshirt isn’t bothering anyone hanging at the top of the upstairs bannister, even if it catches my eye every time I walk by. I’ll ultimately be painting the other side of that bedroom door at SOME point in the future, so it’s fine that can of white paint is till taking up space in a linen closet. These five pieces of cheese won’t eat themselves. Being aware of all of these little decisions is a constant act of mindfulness, a challenge on the best of days. Lately I seem to be having less and less “best” days.
Fortunately, I’ve discovered a more positive way to direct my desire for control, by organizing the “stuff” that I see as a physical representation of my state of mind. No junk drawer is safe in the Dawkins house these days. I have (mostly) embraced the idea of a place for everything, purging our home of the things that no longer serve a purpose and spending money, another way I exert control, on all manner and size of storage container. In positive news, I have gotten rid of items that I didn’t even know we had. The purging feels good. Of course, I’m not purging everything. I derive joy from having things, something else I’ve just accepted in 2020. I will never be a minimalist. It’s all OK, as long as those things have an agreed upon place. We can agree where the forks and spoons go in the kitchen. We should also probably be able to agree where that 10th blank notebook I bought for myself should go, too.
But what does this have to do with gratitude? As I was cleaning last week, emptying a file drawer that contained receipts and papers that lost any sort of importance a long time ago, I came across a card that I must have put away for safe keeping and then promptly lost track of. It was a simple little notecard from my paternal grandmother who passed away in April of 2018 at 93 years old from late-stage Alzheimers. In the card, along with a short note from her, were two recipes. It was amazing how happy this simple, nondescript discovery made me in that moment, a reminder for me that it is often the smallest things that bring the greatest joy. If you know me, you know I’m someone who often equates memories with food, and these two recipes were the embodiment of Gram. I had been searching and searching for them after she passed, and I thought they were gone for good. It turns out they were hiding, waiting to reveal themselves maybe when I needed them most, and I never would have found them if I wasn’t on my new found mission to purge and organize my life.
I’ve been missing a lot of things that were part of life pre-pandemic, and I know I’m not alone there. I also know that I have the privilege that comes with being a white, middle-aged, well-employed, and financially stable man in America. I want for very little. I’m lucky on so many accounts, and I think that Gram wanted to remind me of that when I stumbled on her recipes. I believe that things happen for a reason, and these two little index cards came back into my life at a time when I needed a gratitude reminder. Gram was good at that. I’ll do well to hear her voice more often when I turn toward despair. I believe we all have our own version of Gram guiding us through the tough stuff. Sometimes, in order to hear them, we just need to take breath, pause, and maybe clean out a drawer or two. Now if you’ll excuse me, this goulash isn’t going to make itself.