RE-FRAME

Dazed and confused, I open my eyes to the narrow gleam of sunlight that invades my room. My mind convulses, processing the trauma, images that encircle by consciousness, my heart pounds as my bionic heart declares its presence. I grasp at my sheets and for a second hope that it will jolt me awake, that it was all a dream or perhaps a figment of my imagination.

And yet, the sheets remain firmly in hand. 

Being a victim of a robbery is an experience that is hard to shake. While most people mourn their material possessions, I think that cruder less explored reaction is feeling violated- exponentially amplified when what is stolen is intangible. It’s interesting how we devalue our time and submit to routine until it is taken from us or until I was robbed of it. An objective view would say that this is all the more reason to embrace the time you have, to move forward unapologetically and unrestricted by the popular facade, but that view is unbiased, unaffected and unaware of how to direct the change. Words.

One of the things that I missed most in my early recovery was my job. Not necessarily the work itself but the feeling that I was a key component of a machine, that my contribution was recognized and tangible based on my biweekly deposit. Irrespective of the role, I would strive to derive purpose in my actions, whether that was as an individual contributor, colleague or manager. In the absence of this work, I found myself lamenting, discounting my role as a father and husband. This is a fickle and deceptive trap that many people fall into and often only realize in retrospect. 

Now back at work, I realize that what I truly missed was the perceived linearity of the environment. I can work hard, do well, get promoted- rinse and repeat. Ultimately I have confidence in the system whereas life has proven to be an unpredictable, unreliable and a grossly indifferent mentor.  My pursuit of success is in spite of my demons, in my willingness to define myself based on actions within my control and not out of it.

My mind moves like a twister, devouring everything within its winding path. The irony is that the only stationary thoughts are those that I wish were lighter and could be consumed and ejected.  I look to those closest to me as my anchors, diluting my pessimism and reframing my view. Sometimes, it’s the little things like looking at my daughter smile- a resounding confirmation that I will never give up.

I wish that I could be an unmovable pillar entrenched in naive optimism, innocent to life’s hurdles. I’m conflicted between the wisdom of the experience and the shame I feel in wishing I could remain blissfully ignorant. I want to honestly tell my daughter that life is linear with a series of happy milestones and ambiguously joyful timelines – and for some it is, though I think it is important to appreciate the stark contrast. Sometimes I wonder if I would have been better prepared if I were conditioned differently, if as a society we learned to showcase the ugly as a way to reframe that the good is privileged. 

This pandemic has been an extension of a nightmare, what feels like the trilogy to a horror series. In some ways, it level set my experience at the very lower limit, with a sample of what me and others like me have had to endure. Isolation is being in a room, surrounded by people in gowns and masks that are your lifeline, and with one viral transmission- the catalyst to your demise. Isolation is being confined to a room for weeks, deprived of fresh air, the ability to walk or shower.

Isolation is being surrounded by people but feeling alone, unrelatable, unusual and disconnected. I’ll call COVID, privileged isolation. 

This journey, not unlike others, is a series of predecessors with one input over another, that some may say results in “wisdom”. Lifes’ algorithm.

For me wisdom is accepting that it may never be okay but that it is…