Comfort food is no real comfort

Navigating difficult times

This is The Meadow, a place to create space for those seeking to be more fully awake and alive in the world.

Hello friends. A short post today that I hope will encourage some connection because I need it. I need to feel less alone, less like I’m trying to figure out how to keep from drowning all on my own.

Today, I was listening to Kate Atkinson’s magnificent novel, “A God in Ruins, ”and the narrator described how when his plane was shot down over the ocean during a WW2 bombing raid, he and his crew floated for two days on the sea. When their dinghy started leaking, the only way they could survive was to work together to bail out water with their frozen hands. They did it. They survived, together.

I want that connection. Friends, I need help bailing out my own boat. I have such a thin skin that I often felt defective as a child, as no one else seemed to be as bothered by life as much as I was. Especially injustice. I was always railing about something not being right. I feel that in my intestines now. The bones of my left foot. My leaky eyes and painful hips.

I am finding myself eating a few extra chocolates midday, an extra cup of coffee, a glass of wine at night. And then the next night. And maybe another. To an outsider, it wouldn’t look like much, but to my sensitive body, all this extra food and alcohol is wreaking havoc on my daily life. I am duller, thicker. I skip meditation or shorten it to just a few minutes of listening to bird chatter. I put on a smile with my family like I put on a scarf—it looks nice, but it feels like I’m playing dress up. In short, I am not present. I get through my day just waiting till I can crawl in bed at night with a decent book, burying under the covers, willing myself to not think about the fires raging all around me.

And my boat is slowly filling up with water. I am not sleeping well. My health condition is flaring. I am in constant pain. I am not at my best or even second best with others. Not drowning, not yet, but I am an experienced navigator. I know the signs. Storms are close. I need a sturdy boat. I need some stability to navigate these treacherous waters of despair on one side, vicious anger on the other.

Friends, tell me: how are you navigating these crazy days? Is there any small thing you can share with me, with the rest of us, to help us during these difficult times? Even just sharing how you are doing can help us feel less alone. In the WW2 story, after the waves calm down, they share memories and even jokes, as they wait for rescue. Not all survive, but most do. The storms pass. The dead are remembered. Life goes on.

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