So done with it, so done with it

Yesterday started smoothly. The engine of the day ran flawlessly through morning’s arms.

Until afternoon showed her multiple tattoos and such sadness struck the match of hopelessness.

What happened? I fell in the abyss of statistics once again. Many of you know that I’m pulled by stats. They fascinate, they comfort, they appear to appease some of my inner children. They fueled my career in accounting and numbers. They balance between my creative muse and secure grounding. It’s hard to explain.

I’m often bewitched by stats until they become Too Much. Then, sometimes, on an afternoon like yesterday, it’s hard to pull out of the pit. Do any of you experience this in other ways? Such as when you try to eat just one blue chip? The next thing you know you’re eating half a bag. Or when you want to watch just a little Netflix? Next thing you know you’re binging incessantly.

I was cruising around in coronavirus stats yesterday afternoon, as usual these days. When suddenly the crushing weight of all those numbers and cases and deaths just flattened me. Then utter gray hopeless reared its head and threw me out of the saddle and onto hard rocky ground.

Yesterday, just yesterday mind you, 246,761 people tested positive with coronavirus in the United States yesterday. That’s people just like you and me. Not random statistical numbers. Real folks with warts and sweet hearts and frustrated emotions who are making breakfast this morning without symptoms–or perhaps going to the hospital–or feeling like they have a mild case of the flu–or struggling to breathe.

Over three thousand people died yesterday. Over three thousand! That’s people just like you and me. Grandmas and grandpas. Moms and dads. Even children. People gasping for breath. People saying goodbye to this world of scrambled eggs, birch trees, hot peppers, Christmas carols. No more, no more, no more.

(Of course some of us know or sense or feel that their spirit will never really die, that many or all of them are engulfed in love and light and absolute peace, that death is actually a beginning along with an ending. Please see this blog post if you need some hope in that department.)

But I believe in feeling all of it. The hope and hopelessness. The human and the transcendent. And yesterday I just let the wash of this never-ending nine month ordeal pour over me. So done with it, so done with it, the exhausted inner one whimpered.

So done with staying home. So done with gray skies. So done with counting covid statistics. So done with not seeing loved ones. So done with not hugging friends. So done with six feet distances. So done with masks. So done with bad news. So done with not traveling. So done with Zoom and Facetime and phone calls substituting for being together.

Done, done, done! the inner mutiny choir sang with a frustrated and annoyed Captain Hook voice.

Afternoon winged its gray feathers toward night, and the mutinous chorus finished its song.

I started out the window into pitch black.

And the Holy pulled me out of this self-made abyss once again. Out, out, out, she whispered. You can do this. You can be here now with your frustration and big heart and loving hands. I need you, I need all of you, can you see me once again?

I stared at the invisible Holy and said yes. Will put on my mask this weekend when we go to town. Will wear my metaphorical prayer shawl as I walk through the valley of the shadow of this coronavirus visitor. Will keep a six foot distance to do my part in protecting the vulnerable among us. Will continue to kindle this heart with compassion and forgiveness and beauty and nature and friendship and words. Will even turn away from stats for awhile, yes sir, time to pause that feedback loop, with a little help from the Holy.

Amen, dear reader. Anyone else feeling done, done, done these days? And how do you find your way back to the flame of hope?

**Or never mind if you don’t feel like rekindling any flame of hope right now. This is a safe spot to whimper or complain. Or just share what you’re done with. The Holy doesn’t always want our cheerful faces. He wants us just where we are. Right here. Now. This is how it is. Until it isn’t. **

Day 56 of a seventy-five day journey to connect more deeply with God, Spirit, Holy, Love…to explore “What the Heart Knows” during the waning days of 2020.

About Kathy

I live in the middle of the woods in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. Next to Lake Superior's cold shores. I love to blog.
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59 Responses to So done with it, so done with it

  1. Thank you, dear Kathy, Holy, Holy, Holy Love abides.

  2. Stacy says:

    I am so done with stuff, Kathy. You know why. I get so scared that my heart starts to race, as though I’m in imminent danger. So I turn towards the Holy.

    Fear and anxiety don’t come from God. I keep telling myself that in order not to slip into The Hole. And after I’ve prayed, my heart, my spirit, my whole self calms down so that I can live. Maybe for a moment, maybe for a day.

    It’s funny, but I don’t find comfort in numbers. They make me nervous, and sometimes angry. I think I wrote a post on them a long time ago. It’s really unusual for someone to be good at both numbers and words, like you and my daughter.

    Blessings to you today, Kathy. XOXO

  3. Susan D. Durham says:

    This says it all today. Goodness, yes, it does. My heart is full. I admit to laughing out loud (you knew I would) over this: “Done, done, done! the inner mutiny choir sang with a frustrated and annoyed Captain Hook voice.” How more Holy can you get – singing and laughter in the middle of the abyss? So much love…

    • Kathy says:

      Ahoy, did you like that, aye, matey? I kept thinking of evil villains–like Captain Hook or Cruella Deville when typing that. I LOVE that you get it–how the abyss can grow roses and birds of paradise and strawberries, too. Love back to you. ❤

  4. Val says:

    I’m just waiting and being. I have OCD on all sorts of things – letting them take control of me, but in between and surrounding that I’m just being.

    My thought on the number of people testing positive is, it would be strange if they didn’t as nobody has natural immunity to it. Most of the time I’ve been avoiding the news, but I’m also drawn into it sometimes. Human nature. In the same way that birds are drawn to seed.

    xx

    • Kathy says:

      Val, it sounds like you understand compulsion very well. And it sounds like perhaps you’ve found a way to live with it while embracing being. Also feeling how these kind of things are human nature, too–and loving your analogy of the way the birds turn to seed. Just patterns of nature expressing themselves, maybe. Thank you!

  5. Larissa says:

    Amen. I have had many moments of being SO DONE WITH IT, but somehow I keep returning to the benevolence of the actual moments I’ve inhabited during this pandemic. There has truly been no harm here.

    I laughed out loud at your mention of afternoon’s multiple tattoos. Did you know that my upper right arm is completely covered in tattoos?

    • Kathy says:

      Larissa, smiling. Those moments when we’re DONE with it! Begone, you problem, whatever you are! (especially this live-long virus, errr.) And yet you’re speaking truth. Beneath and around and in between it all there is just benevolence. Perhaps we need to just keep seeing that…

      And, no–did not know about your tattoos–how funny! One of my other good buds has tats all over her. Animals and flowers and trees of all kinds. I have no idea how the word tattoo snuck in this blog post. It came at me sideways insisting upon use. There seemed to be a connection between tattoos and stats in that moment, but I have no idea what or why!

  6. Kathy, a hard and beautiful post to read. I understand your feelings, we are all so tired of it, so tired of the news of it, the reality of it, the sadness of it. I’ve had friends who’ve had it and it was nothing more than a common cold, others who are still experiencing issues and one loved one who is in ICU. None of us are promised tomorrow, this rings more true in 2020. I do know that looking too long at stats and numbers can be harmful, so many false positives out there and so many deaths from this awful virus that came along with other health issues, other deaths that we would not have been counting if not for Covaid. News can draw us in but we need to learn to tune it out at times and lean on the Holy one, listen to Him and remember this is just a journey to our home, to our forever place, to a beauty and joy we could never imagine! Stay strong and encouraged on you divine trip with the Holy. Love and prayers!

    • Kathy says:

      You are so right, Gay, how the Holy can lead us to our home of such beauty and joy. I do believe that this journey home is sometimes a divine quest where we meet monsters, or cul de sacs, or covid and find a way to move through them in a way that kindles love in our hearts. Sometimes the journey starts with fear, but there’s a way through the maze, indeed.

  7. Carol says:

    I suspect everyone is so done with this. I know I am. I want to make plans, I want to go places – even if it’s just the local restaurant for lunch – I want to feel secure. If only we could convince Covid to be done with this.

    • Kathy says:

      Yes! To go out and have fun without thinking about how close we are to covid. I’m not sure he’s done with us yet, but hopefully he’s on his way out. This may be wishful thinking, but I’m with you, Carol.

  8. leelah saachi says:

    Blessing to the the ones who wants stats. Hugging them

    • Kathy says:

      Oh I LOVE you for saying that! All those who want stats just stood up taller and happier inside and said, “We like Leelah. We like her a LOT!”

  9. dawnkinster says:

    I think it’s natural to get sucked into depression or at least sadness and a feeling of being overwhelmed these days. Each of those numbers IS a family. That’s a hard thing to comprehend. Those that are sensitive will feel the weight of times like these the most. I try not to watch the news much, but still I catch the numbers every evening and think about those families. I too am done done done with all of this,but if we just hang on a little bit longer, a few more months if we’re lucky, we’ll be free tomove about more, though still safely. And we can save lives. So, of course, we will.

    • Kathy says:

      I agree, Dawn, with all that you’ve said here. And I wanted people to not feel so alone–that this depression and being done with–it’s a normal natural feeling that’s bound to arise. Especially if we’re sensitive, as you say. I agree that we need to hang in there, too. I am truly hoping that things will ease by spring. Crossing fingers and whispering a prayer that it’s so.

  10. Lovely writing, Kathy, and right to the heart of how the facts can grab you right out of a normal, good day, and fling you into the horror of what we are experiencing right now. Thanks!

    • Kathy says:

      Thanks, Cindy. It’s easy to sometimes get pulled into the rabbit hole of what’s happening now. But I think a part of me wants to be pulled–at least a little bit–into the sadness of it. Because otherwise I’m missing experiencing the grief that is overwhelming so many families around the planet. And I want to feel it. To a degree. To allow room in this heart for the sorrow of what’s happening. Not just in the Holy’s transcendence, which I also believes shines around us.

  11. debyemm says:

    I’ve been doing pretty well with the stress induced junk eating since the election has become more certain – until yesterday. I was a mess and ate too much of too many things I shouldn’t. I admitted to my husband I was very stressed out. Then the Supreme Court decision came out. I was amazed at how quickly the stress simply left me entirely and peace took over again. I didn’t want to feel that stressed but try as I might, it was there.

    • debyemm says:

      Not minimizing the impact of the virus. As you know, last week, a friend only 5 months older than I am, died from it. She was online sharing the emotions of being in ICU and knowing she was going into hospice to die. It really hits home. Real people. I can’t imagine Christmas for her husband and daughters this year.

    • Kathy says:

      Deb, it seems sometimes that stress comes visiting because it wants us to digest unhealed bits in the psyche and larger world. I’m learning that peace and joy aren’t the only gifts I can give the Holy. How my ego wants everything to be calm & bright inside, but God seems to want to peer in nooks and crannies and clean away dust and debris. How being stressed can actually be a good thing–although I may fight you tooth and nail if you say this when I’m stressed. Our egos want to find pleasure and avoid pain, but alas… Anyway, sorry for all these metaphors and maybe sounding like I’m preaching, but I’m really typing all this so I can hear it once again. xoxo

  12. Val Boyko says:

    I keep telling myself that statistics reveal the data, but the heart embraces the truth. Both are infinitely connected. Take time to pause and absorb the reality beyond the science. Then open you heart to bring light and healing. TheHoly is here. It’s within you. Keep sharing it 💕

  13. Tilly says:

    I to am done with it all and at times feel I am done with life in general, I dream I can fly away to a place of still and quiet, but dreams are dreams and we must just keep on going forwards. The Buddhists say ‘This to will end’ I like to cling on to that.

    Bright Blessings

    • Kathy says:

      Thank you for sharing your own inner doneness at times, Tilly. Do you consider yourself a Buddhist? I have studied many of their teachings over the years and resonate, although would not consider myself one. My daughter-in-law comes from a Buddhist family in South Korea.

      • Tilly travel says:

        No Kathy I don’t consider myself a Buddhist, I don’t really consider myself anything. I always get really confused when I have to fill in forms that ask ‘what religion are you’ and tick the ‘other box.’ I have studied many religions over the years thinking I could find one that ‘fit’, (I had a C of E up bringing. Church schooled early years, Sunday school, church, then walked away from it at around 17 after a conversation with a Reverend who told me there were no animals in heaven. That and the point that I couldn’t understand that a person could be evil all their lives then ask for forgiveness on their deathbed and get into heaven, yet a really good kind person who did not believe in God could not because they hadn’t accepted him into their hearts_. After all my reading and listening I think I am a child of all Gods, if that’s possible.

        • Kathy says:

          Thanks for sharing this, Tilly. I love what you consider yourself “a child of all Gods”. I think it’s possible. And it would be totally impossible for me to identify with any religious, either. Spiritual is as close as it gets here. xoxo

  14. Judi says:

    Yes, dear one I, too, am done, done, done. It hurts that we are all hurting. Yeah, I know this human condition will have its ups and downs, its walks through dark places, its overwhelm that feels like drowning from all the sorrow. And then we find the Holy (or it pulls us back into its center) not sure at all how it works but it does. Thank you for putting this into such powerful words and sentences so that it brings tears to my eyes. Seems there is this ongoing dance between the human and the Holy that unfolds with every breath — until there isn’t any breath anymore. Hugz

    • Kathy says:

      Judi, thank you for saying so. For affirming and confirming and resonating with this human-Holy journey we’re on. Even a couple of years ago I used to keep thinking there would come a time when the Holy would rule the roost and the human be relegated to the dirt floor. But now it keeps becoming increasingly clear that the dance is the point. The Holy doesn’t want to let go of the human, and the human won’t let go of the Holy and together we dance… Thanks for dancing with me, dear friend.

  15. Robin says:

    Oh gosh, yes. I am done, done, done, too. It’s so exhausting, especially on the days when I lower myself into my version of the abyss (getting caught up in the news cycle and the Covid stats). I keep wondering what will happen when the national grief hits, if it hits. Look at how we reacted to 9/11 and here we are, more people dying every day than died that day. Every day. Where are the memorials? Where are the ceremonies to help us grieve this great loss? Why aren’t more people feeling this and grieving this? Or are they doing so in isolation? I think, too, that for those who care about others, who feel so much, the past four years have held us in the kind of chaos that is a trauma of sorts, but that’s a whole different story.

    The death of the deer (I think you saw that post) brought up and out a lot of the grief I was carrying for friends and family we lost this year. For people I don’t even know. Sometimes you have to let grief and the Holy bring you to your knees in order to rise up a little lighter. ❤

    • Kathy says:

      Reggie, I am so glad I’m not alone getting caught up in the covid news and stats world. But am kinda glad–in a weird way–that it can lead into the terrain of grief. Because we NEED to be grieving this, as you say. We need to be mourning. We need to feel sadness. Not rejecting, turning away, repressing. The stats somehow keep me connected to that thread of what’s happening to so many people. If we turn off the news and stats, yes, maybe we could be happier–and that’s necessary at times, I think–but there’s also a value in grieving for all of us.

      Can feel that the deer’s death did bring up so much of this year for you, so viscerally. We are so on the same page about this… hoping we can get on to the next chapter sooner than later, though.

  16. Reggie says:

    Sjoe, Kathy. I am so with you on this. I too, every so often, get sucked into the stats and the news reports… until it suddenly hits a threshold or becomes too real and visceral, and then I lose my footing and my groundedness.

    I just want us all to wake up from this nightmare, and have the sun peeking out between the clouds and the rainbows arching above us and the dewdrops sparkling in the morning light, and the birds singing, and all of us looking at each other and going, “Was this real? Did we all have a collective nightmare, together? WTF happened? Is it safe to take off these masks and hug each other again?”

    • Kathy says:

      OK, Reggie, you had me puzzled. Sjoe? So googled it up and discovered it means “wow” in South Afrikaners. Now that’s a new word! Please use it often so I remember it, lol. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if someday we wake up from this dream and discover we’re hugging and being in public without masks and touching without caution once again? I know it happened after the pandemic in 1918 (when my great-grandma died) so it can happen again.

      • Reggie says:

        Lol! Yeah, South Africans use the word “Sjoe” a lot. 🙂 It’s an expression that means a whole range of things – surprise, wonder, dismay, sympathy, tiredness… It’s pronounced like “shoe”, but with a slightly sharper, shorter exclamation, not as drawn out as the English word “shoe”.

  17. I’m so done with not seeing my grandchildren and, as you know, did some whimpering and complaining on my blog. Felt much better after letting the pent-up frustration out. The statistics are so frightening! The old saying, it’s always darkest before the dawn, keeps coming into my mind. Don’t give up now, it whispers, this too shall pass. Interesting how the encouraging phrases heard over a lifetime rise into consciousness to find new applications in the present. Eight years ago today was the Sandy Hook school shooting, another dark day. I think how much the grandparents of those 20 little ones are still missing their grandchildren… But now we’re losing grandparents by the thousands every day. It’s too terrible to grasp, all the suffering, let alone comprehend. I do believe in feeling all of it. How can we be compassionate and not feel it? And so we carry on as best we can in the face of so much sorrow.

    • Kathy says:

      Barbara, I think letting out pent-up frustration can really clear the air. Thank goodness. Especially if we let it out in a creative or kind way. Like you, I believe in feeling it. And we do develop and grow in compassion with that. But sometimes it can get to be too much, too much. May we all find the fine line between feeling/compassion and turning toward what ignites hope in our hearts. xoxo

  18. Lori says:

    At the risk of sounding insensitive, because I don’t want to make light of a sickness people are hurting from, I’m wondering if the stats of people suffering from other illnesses are cared about as much. I know five people fighting cancer to stay alive right now. My mom has been struggling to breathe in her daily life for a few years now. I don’t feel like anyone cares about these people anymore. My two friends have recovered from covid19 like they would have any other cold or flu. My mom is vulnerable to ALL colds and flus. She was in the hospital last Christmas from the norovirus that spread in her senior facility, and couldn’t spend time with her family for the holiday last year either. We weren’t sure if she was going to make it through that bout. She is always at risk, not just from covid. There are risks everywhere, for all of us, every day, some more than others, like my mom. There is nothing I or anyone can do to control illnesses. Fear. It’s an easy emotion to use. I’m tired of being afraid.

    • Kathy says:

      Lori, I am sure we’re not paying enough attention to the other diseases and illnesses right now. There are so many that take us in so many different ways, and our national or global attention is not on them anymore. We should indeed extend compassion to all who are hurting, all who are suffering. My mom’s next door neighbor passed away from pneumonia this past week, nothing to do with covid at all.

      I think it’s the huge numbers that have our attention hooked on the pandemic right now, but if our hearts can be open enough to include the suffering of the many others, so be it. I am wondering now if some people seek to minimize the challenges of the virus because they feel they would be overwhelmed by fear otherwise? I do not know… I know a couple of people I would say that’s their reality, but others not so much. I have not felt much fear, only caution. But when the fear arises (like last March, like a couple of weeks ago) I have tried to feel it fully without pushing it away. And when that feeling of *so done with it* arises, I try to be with that, too.

      Thanks for adding more compassion to the mix. Blessings…

      • Lori says:

        I’m curious, what is the reason for caution? Wouldn’t we be cautious because we’re afraid? Even if we’re being cautious for others and not ourselves, aren’t we fearful for them? I’m seriously curious. 🤷‍♀‍ I’ve always been a bit of a germophobe, which means I fear germs, so I’ve always been cautious about it (I can tell stories of the lengths I’ve gone through), because the flu is just as bad. I know. Even though I’m cautious, I got sick with a treacherous flu the year I moved back home. I didn’t think I was going to make it. The doctor even winced at the diagnosis. As far as the numbers for covid, I won’t go there. I remember your situation with that guy on the road. 😉

        • Kathy says:

          Lori, I feel cautious and don’t want to spread the virus to the vulnerable. That’s why I feel willing and even positive about wearing masks, staying six feet apart, not spending time with many others. I don’t feel fear in my stomach or chest or other parts of the body. That’s what I call fear, when the body registers it. It sounds like you have lots of reasons to be cautious after what you’ve been through…but we all know caution sometimes isn’t enough. And, lol, let’s not talk covid numbers! I started typing out my beliefs recently and then said, no, Kathy, don’t even go there. (Just now did it again and erased it all.)

  19. I am a stats person too and I’m OCD about it. I check the state and county stats on a daily basis and I log them in a journal. Dancing, Walking, Yoga, and movement in general has helped pull me out of most of my funks. Crying helps too, oddly enough. There’s evidence that stress hormones get shed with emotional tears.

    • Kathy says:

      So happy to meet another stats person. Always. I think we’re a unique bunch, those of us who love ’em. I used to have my daily log, too, but convinced myself to quit writing them down in a chart last May. But am going to keep this chart for posterity, yep. And thanks for sharing what helps you with your funks.

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