Life doesn’t always work out like we hope that it would. Things shatter and the glue you ordered from Amazon arrives but won’t work for what broke; you’re on your period and someone messes up your very specific chipotle order; someone dies; the hot water ran out. What I have come to learn is that emotions, particularly the profound ones, are not mutually exclusive: all of this could be going on, and yet you also just landed a new job; you started a new hobby and are pouring your soul into it; a friend gifted the sweetest flowers. What do we do when these things contradict each other to their very core? What do we do when community relies on us for both, and we find ourselves breaking and reconstructing ourselves ten times in a day? I guess I am just trying to figure it out — as we all are. I am unsure whether there is a definitive answer to these questions; unsure as to whether or not I am the one to be answering them — but life throws us into these paradoxical situations at some point or another and if we can lean on one another to figure it out, then let this be my trust fall.
My grandfather went into surgery for a blood infection; I had a blast on the first day of my new (potentially career starting) job. My grandfather went to a rehabilitation center; I celebrated a bit too hard at my nephew’s birthday party with family and friends. My grandfather fell out of bed and was back at the hospital; I was networking and putting my foot in doors. My grandfather entered into hospice; I sent an email, landed an interview for a higher position, and climbed the ladder. Each day was as up-and-down as it sounds. I felt extremely guilty that I couldn’t put my life on hold, that I was happy, that he couldn’t be and that it wasn’t fair — that life wasn’t fair. I took a look into my mirror and saw his drive, passion, and love for education within myself, and yet when I visited him I saw none of that. I was outraged. And yet I continued to smile, and break down, and write, and stare at the ceiling, and call, and call, and call, and visit.
I’ll summarize these feelings by setting the scene for one day. I woke up early; the previous day I had bought a new shirt that I was absolutely thrilled about, and so I put it on and thought about how I would tell my grandpa about it, as well as show him my new journal that I knew he would love. I drove to the hospital, met with the pulmonary team, sat by his bedside trying to wake him up to no avail. I got a milkshake to lighten the mood, to forget about his bellied-breaths and lethargy. I walked into a beautiful courtyard, sat on the bench and received a call from my cousin who asked me if I was OK. I tried to answer but every time I tried to say, “yes,” it would get stuck. Instead of allowing me time to gather myself, he pushed: “Mia? Are you there?” And I broke. My boyfriend and I played a song game in the car and I was crushing it, and singing along too. I went to an art fair directly after, and it turned out that my cousin that had called me was going too, and so we went together. My boyfriend bought me a dazzling new ring that I can’t bear to take off. I went home. My family came over: two sisters, a brother, sister-in-law, brother-in-law, three nieces, one nephew, two boyfriends, and my mother. We went out to dinner and took a photo together while my older brother bounced his newborn, sweet child, and I was in awe at the love that was there. We all walked home together. We chatted on the couch. I received a text from my grandmother that my grandfather was going into hospice care. I stared at my newborn niece blankly, then walked into the kitchen and handed the phone to my sister, then another sister, then my brother… and broke.
These emotions are not mutually exclusive. And yet somehow I found myself struggling to allow myself to feel anything but one emotion at one time. Who says it’s OK to be happy when the world is falling apart so closely to you? It’s like standing on a fault line and watching the world separating and somehow you managed to be right on the very edge — but you can surely still see the depths of what would’ve been had you been just an inch further.
I think settling in the unfairness was my first step. Journaling. Talking. Calling. Visiting. Knowing that this experience for me was utter chaos, and rooting down in it anyways. I stopped looking far into the future, or in the past, but instead travel through these emotions day-by-day, now. If I am sad, I allow myself to feel that way in whatever way fits me. If I am happy I push myself forward: listen to happy music, send emails, cook. I do my best to use these emotions to their fullest capacity — to get the sadness out, to not let it build, but to also embrace the good things that are coming as much as I can so as to continue giving myself the motivation that I need.
Pushing forward, no matter what, also matters to me in this process. This is just me. Or you, if this resonates. I cannot, personally, tolerate stagnancy: it feels wrong to me. I live by the idea that each experience is a lesson, and every day teaches us something. Parts of me want to ignore these personal beliefs, to push them aside and face them at a later date. The gritty and intolerant side of me forces me to keep going and face these teachings. If encountering this paradox of emotion has taught me anything, it is that chaos is horribly beautiful. Things die, things grow; the soil goes dry and the next day there’s a tsunami that washes it all away. Life is not fair. Horrible things happen to amazing people. Amazing things happen to horrible people. And we cannot control it, this fact.
We can listen to ourselves, our emotions, and the world around us. We can root ourselves in what feels right at any given second and change it the next. We can give ourselves comfort in routine, hobbies, snacks, or animals. We can rely on the community around us; multiple of them for different and contrasting things. And most importantly, we can contradict ourselves and it’s OK.