What I Do When My Faith in Humanity Needs a Nap

Last weekend, Harold and I decided to go garage-saling...we love treasure hunting!

Now, if you know me well, you know this is usually an event. I normally have a list of addresses, a route mapped out, and maybe a few extra addresses, just in case we finish early. I like knowing where we're headed. I like having a plan.

So there we were, pulling out of the driveway, when Harold looked over and asked, "Where are we going first?"

"I don't know."

He looked surprised.

"You didn't write them down?"

"No."

And then I laughed and said, "That's the old me. I don’t give a care this week"

Harold laughed too. But later, I found myself thinking about that comment. Because it wasn't entirely a joke.

The old me absolutely would have written them down. The old me was the woman with the list that included the route and the backup plan.  The woman who always seemed excited about the next thing.

Lately, I've been watching myself with a certain amount of curiosity. Who is this woman?

Because it's not just the garage sales, but a lot of other things too.

I've always enjoyed creating healthy meals for Harold and me. I enjoy growing vegetables and flowers. I love making my home feel welcoming. I like beautiful flowers by the front door, welcoming visitors and making me happy when I see them. I like the little details that make everyday life feel beautiful.

Nobody comes over much since we moved to a new state. I'm certainly not trying to impress anyone. Those things simply make me happy…except lately, my pots are still empty.

Dinner has become a lot more "good enough." And several things I normally look forward to have started feeling more like obligations than pleasures.

Depression isn't the right word. I've been there before, and this isn't that.

This feels more like discouragement. Like somebody turned the dimmer switch down on my enthusiasm for life. I don't think we talk about discouragement much. We talk about anxiety and burnout, and we talk about depression. Discouragement seems to slip under the radar, even though I suspect many people are carrying it around these days.

The people I care about are carrying a lot right now. Some are worried about money. Some are struggling with relationships. Some are trying to figure out what's next. Some are alone and feeling it.  Maybe that's part of what I'm feeling too. 

And then there's social media. I've been spending less time there. I’m protecting myself. The older I get, the more surprised I am by how people speak to each other online. In my everyday life, I rarely encounter truly mean people. Most people are pretty decent; they’re trying. Most people will smile back if you smile first.

Online can feel like an entirely different story. I don't know exactly why. Maybe it's anonymity or fear. Maybe people are hurting. Whatever the reason, the unkindness affects me more than I wish it did.

And when enough of those things pile up, I notice my energy changing. 

The weird thing is that I still know exactly what helps. I just don't particularly feel like doing any of it when I get this way. There’s some kind of huge barrier in the way.  It's almost like there's an invisible wall between me and the things I know will help 

For instance, I know walking helps, and nature helps me immensely. I know stretching, exercise, and dancing help.  I know staying connected with my people and meeting new people helps. Getting out of the house helps.

I've been a walker most of my life. Nature has always been one of my healing tools. These days I walk along the Missouri River. It's absolutely beautiful. I see ducks and ducklings…deer…bunnies…squirrels and the occasional eagle.

The trees are full and green. The river moves at its own pace, peaceful and completely unconcerned with whatever drama human beings have created this week.

Every single time I go, I'm happy I went...later. Getting myself out the door is the hard part. What is that about?

Last week, it took every bit of gumption I had to start a beginner yoga class, and the instructor was welcoming and great at what she does.  There were seven of us attending, and two other women were my age. I felt comfortable and safe.  I knew I would, but I wanted to turn around and go back home at least five times on the drive there.

I also finally set up a corner in my office for painting last week. I've never painted before, except in painting classes with a glass of wine, but I’ve wanted to for at least a few years. I bought the easel, the brushes, the paints, and the canvases. The whole thing. I’m kind of excited about this, but I wonder what took so long.

I'm learning to listen to both voices and follow the healthier one. Most of the time.

What I've noticed lately is that when I’m feeling discouraged and my faith in humanity needs a nap, the things that help are surprisingly ordinary.

A new leaf opening on one of my plants. A conversation with Amy or Taylor. An afternoon with Bill.  A laugh with Harold. Flowers blooming. A stranger making eye contact and smiling. The woman at the grocery store who takes a minute to be kind. The friend who calls just to check in. And even a good, solid nap.

I wish I could tell you one of those things changed everything. Life doesn't usually work that way. What they do is remind me.

They remind me that kindness still exists. Beauty still exists. Love still exists. Connection still exists. And, there’s still joy in my life.

The headlines rarely speak about those things. Social media doesn't reward those things. But they're there. Every single day.

Maybe that's really what this blog is about. Maybe this is what I'm learning at sixty-eight. Enthusiasm isn't something I can force. Some weeks, it shows up easily. Some weeks, I have to go looking for it. And when I do, I almost never find it in the big things. I find it standing by a river. Talking to someone I love. Watching a new leaf unfurl. Sitting on my porch with a cup of coffee. Life keeps handing me tiny reminders that the world is still beautiful, even when I'm having trouble seeing it. 

My faith in humanity needs a nap. Just a nap. And while it's resting, I'm relying on smaller things to carry me.

The river.

My plants.

The people I love.

The yoga class I almost talked myself out of attending.

The flowers I'm finally going to plant.

The paintbrush waiting in the corner of my office.

I'm pretty sure that my enthusiasm will find its way back.

Experience tells me it will.

Until then, I'll keep doing the things that connect me to beauty, to people, and to myself.

If you're feeling a little discouraged, too, maybe that's enough for now. Maybe we don't need to solve everything. Maybe we just need to keep showing up for the small things that remind us why we cared in the first place.

Love is ALL there is,

Diana