Discovering Tranquility within Chaos

Spoiler: liminal space may, in fact, be the sweet spot

You may have noticed that I’ve been absent from your inbox as of late. Truthfully, I chose an inopportune moment to dive into this passion project a few months ago, though it felt like an appropriate decision at the time. I haven’t forgotten about you, or this, and I’m also not yet in a position to re-engage entirely¹. For the foreseeable future, you’re more likely to see updates in my other Substack publication, Narrative Musings (please subscribe!).

However, while I’m here, I’d feel remiss to not provide something worth thinking about. I know, I know, the whole point of this newsletter was to grow together, to learn to embrace change, harness adaptability, and engage in innovative thinking. This edition is going to be a bit different, a bit more personal. As always, feedback is welcome in the comments or by email.

---

Something Akin to Grief

My father died unexpectedly last month. He had just turned 71, and had early-onset Alzheimer’s, though that wasn’t the cause of death². It had been a turbulent year serving as his medical and financial power of attorney³, roles that I was set to relinquish days after his passing (the paperwork to resign was complicated by the fact that, in order to sell his house earlier this year, I had to set up a trust account through my bank, in his name; and as the executor, resigning as medical power of attorney would still have left me responsible for approving medical decisions if they involved any sort of financial investment—I had to involve an attorney and a judge, and it was going to be a messy ordeal; I’m beyond grateful the problem resolved itself). You can read more about my initial thoughts on his passing here: Grieving a Loss that Doesn’t Feel Like One.

Now that I’m a few more weeks removed, I’ve had some time to process the experience a little bit more. Every time I think I’m doing fine, shortly thereafter I’m inundated with a deluge of unfamiliar emotion that I can’t quite yet put a finger on. So: I’m pointing my finger toward something akin to grief.

But it’s not grief in the sense that I’m sad that he’s gone. Honestly, I don’t feel that at all; I still only feel relief in his passing. I suppose I already grieved his absence, when I was a child and he was…well…absent. However, I do think what I feel now — in this moment, this week, this month — must also fit into that chaotic box that houses the various iterations of how humans experience grief.

I don’t feel so much that I lost a father (because I never really felt that I had one), but more that I somehow lost myself in all the muck. I’ve spent so much of my life seeking stability, and every major choice I’ve made—from selling my soul to the Army in order to avoid student debt to working full-time for years while I established and grew my business—was in service to that endgame. I’ve worked tirelessly to lay a strong foundation, build meaningful connections and relationships, and prove to myself that I deserved better. I know I deserved better. And I also know I acted with integrity every step of the way, consistently showing up with far more empathy and compassion than was warranted.

And yet, all of this still feels incredibly heavy and burdensome, like being on the precipice of panic with juuuuuust enough energy to reel it in to avoid being sucked into the spiraling vortex of discernible doom. At the same time, I feel gravity dissipating, my feet no longer firmly planted as I grasp at wisps of all sorts of things that could potentially serve as an anchor, but when I attempt to take hold, it becomes abundantly clear that the perceived anchors are merely mirages.

Maybe there isn’t really anything to hold onto, and maybe that’s okay. It’s not surprising that these feelings, whatever they are, fester in the liminal space of suspension.

---

Suspension and Rediscovery

Much of the past 11 months has felt like utter chaos. Throughout most of that period, I spent more time traveling (for work, fulfilling my filial duty, trying to recover in the aftermath, etc.) than at home. I took on more responsibility than I previously thought I could handle, and I’ve learned to slow down, relinquish some control, and set boundaries around my own limitations. Almost every time I felt I reached a limit, something else was thrown my way and I somehow managed to forge a pathway forward. Truthfully, I’ve learned more this year than I thought was humanly possibly, many lessons of which will likely make it into this newsletter at some point.

The version of me who is writing this newsletter feels foreign and unfamiliar. There are the obviously complex and often conflicting emotions that have peppered my experience as power of attorney, and it feels as though the many identities I embrace are also in flux. I went from daughter to caretaker overnight, and I shouldered the blame for my father’s unhappiness until experiencing the sudden and unexpected freedom from that burden upon his (un)timely demise. I went from being an ambitious entrepreneur, counselor, and writer, to an exhausted and disoriented professional who has had to, on more than one occasion and for the first time(s) in my life, take a step back from previous commitments.

My greatest struggle this past year has been feeling far too responsible for people and things that were out of my control. As a result, I have felt incredibly irresponsible every time I’ve had to disengage to recharge. However, disengaging has afforded me the opportunity to slow down and breathe. And to be clear: while I’m still feeling uncomfortable in this liminal space, I think all of these thoughts, feelings, and experiences will ultimately continue to have a positive impact on my personal growth.

One positive and notable change is that I’m getting more comfortable prioritizing self-care over work (probably the greatest identity shift I’ve ever experienced). No offense to my wonderful students, but delaying essay feedback so that I can take the day to recharge and subsequently show up in my professional identity more refreshed instead of depleted has been genuinely life-changing (spoiler alert: nobody but me has ever cared about my self-imposed deadlines anyway).

So instead of reviewing the dozens of essays sitting in my queue for the week, I spent most of today filling my empty cup by connecting with my closest friends and chosen family around the globe. This evening, I’m left thinking about some of the sage words of wisdom shared with me today:

In response to me feeling paralyzed and unsettled, and like there are some more looming and overwhelming decisions to be made in the near future, I was advised that I can’t really even consider making more big decisions until I’ve exhausted the wilderness.

In response to me expressing frustration at my inability to focus, I was reminded that it’s okay to not feel okay right now. Also, I was encouraged to drop the ball and shed some of that overwhelming feeling of responsibility, especially when doing so has zero repercussion (such as delaying my essay feedback or choosing to take a step back from some of my professional commitments).

---

Call to Action

As much as I’d love to harness complete control in each of my endeavors, I realize that my life will continue to dictate its own pace — and so will yours. Unless you’re a scalpel-wielding neurosurgeon in the operating room with a patient’s open skull ready for you to excise the demons tumor (and probably a few other exceptions, but also perhaps there aren’t any real exceptions to this rule), your mental and physical health are far more important than anything going on at work, in school, or in your many relationships.

So: if you’re feeling too responsible, too overwhelmed, or too [insert whatever it is that you’re feeling that you’d like to change], I challenge you to relinquish some control, drop the ball, take a break, and prioritize self-care. These may not work for everyone, but they’ve certainly been formative experiences for me, so perhaps consider:

• Running off to NYC for a month

• Taking a midnight stroll in the rain to bask in the breathtaking beauty of a city skyline

• Getting that massage

• Eating dessert first⁴

• Stabbing a cloth thousands of times to create something beautiful

Two embroidery pieces I recently completed. The catharsis derived from repeatedly stabbing cloth to create something beautiful is genuinely unparalleled.

• Skipping a marathon training run without feeling guilty

• Re-reading books that bring you joy (my recommendations from this month: John Green’s An Abundance of Katherines, Harlan Coben’s The Boy from the Woods and The Match, David Foster Wallace’s The Broom of the System, and Sarah Knight’s Calm the Fuck Down)

• Connecting with old friends who feel like family

• Going to the US Open, several Broadway shows, or any kind of soul-lifting event in your area

• Spending more money on that damn good cup of coffee than it’s probably actually worth

• Celebrating important milestones (like a 30th birthday—hi, Maddy!) with people you adore

I’m really glad you’re here,

J

1. To be fair, I did warn all you readers that my timeline and expectations were, quite fittingly, subject to change.

2. Pretty sure bigotry played a role here, but I believe the death certificate says heart attack. More on this at a future date, no doubt, because you know there’s a damn good story here. Update: forget future date, here you go:

Kiss My Ash

3. I learned a lot in this process. The entire time, I felt the desperate need for some sort of guide or handbook to navigate it more smoothly. However, no such tome exists. Stay tuned for further insights on this topic from yours truly.

4. Dave’s grandmother, Evelyn, inspired this one.