Friday, December 22: The Innkeeper
This is a busy time of year for everyone, but especially for people in academia (and K-12 education, too). For me, the holiday season always includes grading, comforting tearful, stressed out students, end-of-semester assessment, and trying cleaning my office and complete a to do list so when I show back up in my office on January 2 I am not quite so overwhelmed. There is also decorating, baking, shopping, and all the typical stuff people either enjoy or feel they have to do. (In my case, I actually enjoy all of these things except shopping, so I guess I'm luckier than most).
After 22 days of writing these I realize that I have a theme that is about being present. I also realize I absolutely have nothing new to say about the innkeeper in the Christmas story.
And yet, I'm going to say it anyway. He was so overwhelmed by the sudden influx of people showing up in Bethlehem for the census that he couldn't really see Mary and Joseph. He couldn't think through the possible ways to handle these people before him, who were tired and about to have a baby. He couldn't imagine asking someone else to give up or share their room. He couldn't imagine any solution at all.
That's what being overwhelmed does to a person. I have innkeeper moments on a pretty regular basis.
Take, for instance, this morning. I had a plan. My spouse was going to leave for work at 5:30 a.m., and I was going to wake up with her and write and do some yoga, then shower, then wake the little guy up at 7, then get him off to school, then purchase a couple things online and pay exorbitant shipping costs for them, then give our other resident her meds and walk the dog, then go to work, where I had a lot to do.
Instead, spouse was put on call and crawled back into bed. I was torn between staying there with her--such a rare treat--and sticking with the plan. But then the little guy woke ridiculously early, and I ended up trying to give her a break and going into his room to get him through what would now be a longer morning. But he caught on that she was still in the house and didn't want to do the things we usually do in the morning. No, he wanted to do the things he does with her on the rare mornings when she is at home and I'm the one gone.
And so I got overwhelmed, and passive aggressively stomped around, complaining under my breath. Of course I couldn't find the RIGHT meditation he wanted or didn't light the sage in EXACTLY the way he expected. Naturally, things accelerated quickly into a terrible morning. Then after he was on his way to school our 20-year-old was inexplicably ready to talk about deep things at 8 a.m. as I was trying to get out the door to work, and my daughter texted me a deep question I couldn't really answer in a text.
I acknowledged everybody but put them off until later, then rushed out the door. I got to my 37 e-mails and unexpected meeting at work, and thought, crap, I'm not getting out of here early today after all to get my shopping done.
I'm good at writing about presence but not always good at being present, especially when things get stressful. And I realized it soon after my meeting was over, and at least some of the 37 e-mails were answered--and I took and deep breath and decided to give myself 20 minutes to write and post, knowing the break would make me feel better.
But before that, I closed my eyes, thinking I would imagine what I could have done differently this morning, an exercise that is often helpful in making amends, forgiving myself, and moving on. But instead I found myself getting anxious about he pile of gifts we have to wrap. Even thought we scaled back this year, and even though I'm not even done with my shopping, the pile seems ridiculously large. I thought, how in the world am I ever going to wrap all of those gifts tonight, especially if my spouse gets called into work, and especially when I have two 20-somethings who have indicated this morning that they really need me, not to mention a boy very excited about Christmas who may or may not be easy to get to sleep?
And so, I took another deep breath, and instead of going back in time and figuring out what I could have done differently (I already know), I envisioned how I could redeem the day. Get through the rest of the e-mails and the things that can't wait until after the new year--that list is short. Clean my office enough so that nothing is going to rot while I'm gone, but be OK with the rest of the mess. Make a list of things that have to get done within my first two days back at work, and leave the longer to do list until January 2. Head out to finish the shopping. I'll get through that--I won't pretend to enjoy it--but I'll be friendly to the people I see in the store, the person who checks me out.
And then, tonight, I'm going to encourage the older people in the house to hang out together, saying there are things I need to get done and we'll have a whole week to bond and talk and enjoy each other's company. After I get the little guy to bed I will put on some Christmas music and get a glass of wine and maybe a Christmas treat or two and take my time wrapping the gifts, thinking about each recipient and my hopes for them, and the memories I have of them in the past year. If my spouse does not get called into work and wants to join me, awesome, but if not, this is what I need to do for myself tonight. She will understand if I tell her directly and honestly.
And probably the little guy will have a nightmare, or someone will need to have a deep conversation at midnight, or someone will get into a fight with someone else, or the Christmas lights on the outside of the house will fall down (oh, wait, that's already happened), or I'll get a New York Times alert on my phone and not be able to not look and end up cursing the miserable state of our country and world.
And I'll have to just be present in the moment if any of those things happen (except that I'll be turning off my phone to avoid the last one). I'll have to just pause, breathe, and be there in a way the innkeeper wasn't that night. I'll have to put off the wrapping, and the wine-drinking, and be OK with the change of plans. And I'll do that another night, and if all the gifts don't get wrapped before Christmas, well, Agios Basilis (the Greek version of Santa Claus) comes on New Year's anyway, so who cares? And then there are the wise men, who bring gifts on Epiphany. And Valentine's day. And the possibility of giving gifts out unwrapped. Everybody will get all their gifts at some point, whether or not I get the wrapping done tonight.
Some things--most things--can wait.
After 22 days of writing these I realize that I have a theme that is about being present. I also realize I absolutely have nothing new to say about the innkeeper in the Christmas story.
And yet, I'm going to say it anyway. He was so overwhelmed by the sudden influx of people showing up in Bethlehem for the census that he couldn't really see Mary and Joseph. He couldn't think through the possible ways to handle these people before him, who were tired and about to have a baby. He couldn't imagine asking someone else to give up or share their room. He couldn't imagine any solution at all.
That's what being overwhelmed does to a person. I have innkeeper moments on a pretty regular basis.
Take, for instance, this morning. I had a plan. My spouse was going to leave for work at 5:30 a.m., and I was going to wake up with her and write and do some yoga, then shower, then wake the little guy up at 7, then get him off to school, then purchase a couple things online and pay exorbitant shipping costs for them, then give our other resident her meds and walk the dog, then go to work, where I had a lot to do.
Instead, spouse was put on call and crawled back into bed. I was torn between staying there with her--such a rare treat--and sticking with the plan. But then the little guy woke ridiculously early, and I ended up trying to give her a break and going into his room to get him through what would now be a longer morning. But he caught on that she was still in the house and didn't want to do the things we usually do in the morning. No, he wanted to do the things he does with her on the rare mornings when she is at home and I'm the one gone.
And so I got overwhelmed, and passive aggressively stomped around, complaining under my breath. Of course I couldn't find the RIGHT meditation he wanted or didn't light the sage in EXACTLY the way he expected. Naturally, things accelerated quickly into a terrible morning. Then after he was on his way to school our 20-year-old was inexplicably ready to talk about deep things at 8 a.m. as I was trying to get out the door to work, and my daughter texted me a deep question I couldn't really answer in a text.
I acknowledged everybody but put them off until later, then rushed out the door. I got to my 37 e-mails and unexpected meeting at work, and thought, crap, I'm not getting out of here early today after all to get my shopping done.
I'm good at writing about presence but not always good at being present, especially when things get stressful. And I realized it soon after my meeting was over, and at least some of the 37 e-mails were answered--and I took and deep breath and decided to give myself 20 minutes to write and post, knowing the break would make me feel better.
But before that, I closed my eyes, thinking I would imagine what I could have done differently this morning, an exercise that is often helpful in making amends, forgiving myself, and moving on. But instead I found myself getting anxious about he pile of gifts we have to wrap. Even thought we scaled back this year, and even though I'm not even done with my shopping, the pile seems ridiculously large. I thought, how in the world am I ever going to wrap all of those gifts tonight, especially if my spouse gets called into work, and especially when I have two 20-somethings who have indicated this morning that they really need me, not to mention a boy very excited about Christmas who may or may not be easy to get to sleep?
And so, I took another deep breath, and instead of going back in time and figuring out what I could have done differently (I already know), I envisioned how I could redeem the day. Get through the rest of the e-mails and the things that can't wait until after the new year--that list is short. Clean my office enough so that nothing is going to rot while I'm gone, but be OK with the rest of the mess. Make a list of things that have to get done within my first two days back at work, and leave the longer to do list until January 2. Head out to finish the shopping. I'll get through that--I won't pretend to enjoy it--but I'll be friendly to the people I see in the store, the person who checks me out.
And then, tonight, I'm going to encourage the older people in the house to hang out together, saying there are things I need to get done and we'll have a whole week to bond and talk and enjoy each other's company. After I get the little guy to bed I will put on some Christmas music and get a glass of wine and maybe a Christmas treat or two and take my time wrapping the gifts, thinking about each recipient and my hopes for them, and the memories I have of them in the past year. If my spouse does not get called into work and wants to join me, awesome, but if not, this is what I need to do for myself tonight. She will understand if I tell her directly and honestly.
And probably the little guy will have a nightmare, or someone will need to have a deep conversation at midnight, or someone will get into a fight with someone else, or the Christmas lights on the outside of the house will fall down (oh, wait, that's already happened), or I'll get a New York Times alert on my phone and not be able to not look and end up cursing the miserable state of our country and world.
And I'll have to just be present in the moment if any of those things happen (except that I'll be turning off my phone to avoid the last one). I'll have to just pause, breathe, and be there in a way the innkeeper wasn't that night. I'll have to put off the wrapping, and the wine-drinking, and be OK with the change of plans. And I'll do that another night, and if all the gifts don't get wrapped before Christmas, well, Agios Basilis (the Greek version of Santa Claus) comes on New Year's anyway, so who cares? And then there are the wise men, who bring gifts on Epiphany. And Valentine's day. And the possibility of giving gifts out unwrapped. Everybody will get all their gifts at some point, whether or not I get the wrapping done tonight.
Some things--most things--can wait.
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