Most of you would not be surprised to learn I am a fan of faces in places. They are delightful. Here are a few:
Lol see? That’s a good one.
They’re everywhere.
Anyways, I bought a couple of my own a while back. Just a pair of rocks with googly eyes, a weirdo Greek chorus to sit near the mouthwash and hand soap. They’ve sat undisturbed for years and bring me the small joy one would expect. That is - until I walked in the bathroom midweek to learn:
One is now in tears. For no discernible reason, and that no amount of washing could un-scrub - my bathroom rock is now crying.
If these were normal times, sure whatever… but no. It feels as though a communal sadness manifested itself on the sink. I can’t bring myself to remove said bathroom rock (and what - leave the other alone?) and instead am slightly chilled by the sight every time I go to brush my teeth. It feels like this:
😓 That Discomfort You’re Feeling is Grief
HBR: People are feeling any number of things right now. Is it right to call some of what they’re feeling grief?
Kessler: Yes, and we’re feeling a number of different griefs. We feel the world has changed, and it has. We know this is temporary, but it doesn’t feel that way, and we realize things will be different. Just as going to the airport is forever different from how it was before 9/11, things will change and this is the point at which they changed. The loss of normalcy; the fear of economic toll; the loss of connection. This is hitting us and we’re grieving. Collectively. We are not used to this kind of collective grief in the air.
You said we’re feeling more than one kind of grief?
Yes, we’re also feeling anticipatory grief. Anticipatory grief is that feeling we get about what the future holds when we’re uncertain. Usually it centers on death. We feel it when someone gets a dire diagnosis or when we have the normal thought that we’ll lose a parent someday. Anticipatory grief is also more broadly imagined futures. There is a storm coming. There’s something bad out there. With a virus, this kind of grief is so confusing for people. Our primitive mind knows something bad is happening, but you can’t see it. This breaks our sense of safety. We’re feeling that loss of safety. I don’t think we’ve collectively lost our sense of general safety like this. Individually or as smaller groups, people have felt this. But all together, this is new. We are grieving on a micro and a macro level.
Or put another way:
Kessler: Anticipatory grief is the mind going to the future and imagining the worst. To calm yourself, you want to come into the present. This will be familiar advice to anyone who has meditated or practiced mindfulness but people are always surprised at how prosaic this can be. You can name five things in the room. There’s a computer, a chair, a picture of the dog, an old rug, and a coffee mug. It’s that simple. Breathe. Realize that in the present moment, nothing you’ve anticipated has happened. In this moment, you’re okay. You have food. You are not sick. Use your senses and think about what they feel. The desk is hard. The blanket is soft. I can feel the breath coming into my nose. This really will work to dampen some of that pain.
You can also think about how to let go of what you can’t control. What your neighbor is doing is out of your control. What is in your control is staying six feet away from them and washing your hands. Focus on that.
Finally, it’s a good time to stock up on compassion. Everyone will have different levels of fear and grief and it manifests in different ways. A coworker got very snippy with me the other day and I thought, That’s not like this person; that’s how they’re dealing with this. I’m seeing their fear and anxiety. So be patient. Think about who someone usually is and not who they seem to be in this moment.
Here are some other things I’ve found interesting, helpful, or just pleasurably distracting this week:
🔥 Portrait of a Lady on Fire
I will be honest - I am only twenty minutes in here. I started it too late last night and I don’t think the household was ready for two hours of subtitles. WITH THAT SAID, (1) I have not heard anything come more uniformly and highly recommended this year than this movie. (2) IT WENT STRAIGHT TO HULU. You don’t even have to rent the thing! Open the app, hit play, and presumably weep. That’s the plan this afternoon.
📝 I, TOO, AM DECLINING TO WRITE THE NEXT ‘KING LEAR’ AS A PROTEST AGAINST CAPITALISM
If you need a laugh.
🎮 I Can’t See My Family Right Now, So I Rebuilt Them As Sims
Or a laugh/cry.
🐶 So … How Are We Supposed to Open Doggy Poop Bags Now?
I will admit - I definitely needed the solidarity this article provided… but have personally come to a very different (and upsetting) solution. I will not be describing it in this newsletter.
💔 Eating for Two: My Husband and I Shared a Love of Food. Then He Cheated on Me When I was Seven Months Pregnant.
I mean how can you not continue after this open:
The first thing I ate in 2020 was a multigrain bagel with cream cheese from Dunkin’ Donuts at 6:15 a.m. The bland mass of bread food was especially insulting because I was at JFK, a few miles from New York City, where I’d just spent New Year’s weekend eating real bagels with friends before flying back to Los Angeles. My breakfast was a choice of circumstance, or at least that’s what I told myself then. It’s what I’ve told myself almost every day since, as I made slew of impulsive decisions: moving to an apartment so expensive I had to borrow money from my sister; seeing a Reiki healer who made pained-chimp noises as she circled her hands above my heart; telling a Citibank telemarketer who asked how my day was going, “Well, Reginald, I’m seven months pregnant and my husband just cheated on me.” (To his credit, Reginald took five seconds and then responded, “I have an offer that will make your day even better.” I signed up for it.)
I didn’t realize I was loudly sobbing while eating until a woman passing by with a roller suitcase put a hand on my shoulder and said gently, “Be careful honey, you’re going to choke.” Just the day before, New Year’s Eve, to be exact, I’d cried to a friend in a Crown Heights coffee shop while simultaneously inhaling a raspberry zucchini muffin with a glob of cream cheese baked inside. “It’s actually so good you’re not one of those people who can’t eat when they’re sad,” she said. I nodded, unoffended. I’d always prided myself on two things: being funny and a good eater. (Which is probably just being Jewish, but still.) And while humor seemed to have vanished from my presence as fast as doughy treats usually do, at least — at least! — I was still capable of eating.
🚗 As Bars Stay Closed, Chicago’s Legendary Tamale Guy Tests Home Delivery
Lastly, a little love for the future - the Tamale Guy is currently delivering and has plans to open his own restaurant someday. Also lol that Eater Chicago - in lieu of actually being able to publish any sort of location for the tamale delivery - just settled on Innertown Pub. Too real.
// and a Playlist
I didn’t make this one but the Apple Music robot had me dead to rights yesterday with their innocuously titled Chill Mix. I think I’ve already played it three times through because (a) wow, this is what it feels like to be ALGORITHMICALLY SEEN and (b) I am summoning whatever magic I can to get the robot to make me another like it next week. Here’s hoping.
If You Want Better Things
Genesis 30:3 — The Mountain Goats
Our Way to Fall — Yo La Tengo
Sadako Folding Cranes — Laura Veirs
Blue Clouds — Ida
Various Stages — Great Lake Swimmers
Going, Going, Gone — Stars
Army Corps of Architects — Death Cab for Cutie
Dishes in the Sink — Sisyphus
In Ear Park — Department of Eagles
Cheers — Blake Mills
Free Translator — The Books
Do I Really Have To? — Denison Witmer
Go Ahead — Rilo Kiley
Holland — Sufjan Stevens
The Audio Pool — The Album Leaf
Guilty Cubicles — Broken Social Scene
Seaweed — Fruit Bats
Lime Tree — Bright Eyes
Intil — Menomena
God Made the Automobile — Iron & Wine
Cataracts — Andrew Bird
Lions — Tune-Yards
Death — The Dodos
Separate the People — Mates of State
The Triumph of Our Tired Eyes — Silver Mt. Zion
💚 Spotify