If you asked me last week what things were comforting and soothing, I would give you a list of all the things I have designed to be so. Long baths. My husband and kids and I all snuggled up on the couch watching a movie. A long hike. Time alone for writing and reading. Sweat pants on a rainy day.
I wouldn't have been able to name comforts beyond my own making.
And right now the world finds itself in great discomfort. Plans, routines, jobs, appointments, errands, all screeching to a halt. People in isolation. Fear threatens logic. Too much news.
Although I adjust on the fly and plow on, I have felt an absence of peace in my life. It's hard to nail down exactly and it feels self-absorbed to do so. Other people are dealing with things much worse, right? What is the value of my pain in something this large? An on and on with the reasoning that lets shadows grow by refusing to look at something head on.
So I stuff it down. This feeling isn't necessary. Keep going.
But three days ago as we were driving near the base of a mountain, I spotted a lone fisherman standing knee deep in the cold water of a trout stream and a lump formed in my throat immediately. Both the idea of being him- standing upright against the current, hearing the water, ring finger resting on the line to feel the bump of a bite, as well as the familiarity of the shape of a wading man, pulled at my heart. Tears spilled out of my eyes before I could fight them off. I felt a comfort at the sight of him.
Two days ago, I was making a long drive home. My family in the car, the dimming light, the splattering rain mixed together with the already pulsating anxiety inside of me. Each subsequent hour brought my palms sweatier and my breath harder to find. I sent the radio to seeking and suddenly heard the familiar voice of a nationally syndicated radio host from my childhood. And for a brief second, I wasn't the driver in charge of keeping my family safe through tough conditions, I was the kid in the backseat. I was the one without the weight of responsibility, but with complete trust in those in front of me. I let that radio station play until it gave itself over to the fuzz of distance.
It is disingenuous to deny my thoughts, feelings, and fears. It is irrational to not ask for comfort when comfort is needed. But it is a gift to be given bits of restoration from unexpected, unsought-out sources. Looking around, keeping my eyes and ears open gave me a brief respite from the noise in my head and I am so grateful that relief came unexpectedly from my mom and dad.
I know my parents comforted me when I was scared or upset, but those images are blurry and don't easily come to mind. Yet, the small moments sail back to me with full imagery and color. These benign things done without intention are the pixels of reflection.
Right now in these extended days at home, my kids are absorbing these little nothings that may come springing back to them in times of stress and confusion. I can't know what they might be. They'll just be little treasures of familiarity and comfort lying in wait until they are needed.
