Shake it off

When cynicism and doubt chill the soul, we have to keep stretching forward

March in Minnesota is maddening. Earlier in the week it was balmy and warm, temperatures in the lower 70s; but a chilly few days are now upon us, until a return to warmth again tomorrow. As Otis and I stepped into the darkened early morning cold, he promptly took care of his business and then began to shudder with skin and fur, attempting to cast off the chill we were feeling. It took no convincing on my part for him to dash to the door a few seconds later, and upon entering the warmth of our home he was once again calm and contented.

Almost immediately I heard in my head the music and lyrics from Taylor Swift’s hit of a decade or more ago, “Shake It Off.”

I’ve never been much of a “Swiftie,” but raising twelve children who listened to all sorts of music over the years helped me to be aware of what was happening in youth culture at the time. For some reason this song was also a favorite of Claudia’s, and I hear her now, talking to one of our kids about an issue they were confronting, reminding them to “shake it off” and move on. Claudia was really that kind of person, undaunted by the critique of others and only strengthened when challenged on a core value. She taught me how not to linger too long in negativity and discouragement, a personality flaw I have carried throughout my life.

Yesterday was a relatively quiet day of remembrance on my part. I was well prepared for the first anniversary of Claudia’s death, having practiced the journey daily for the past 365 days. In some ways it was not difficult to light a candle of remembrance, to shed a few tears of both deep gratitude and painful loss, to hear from friends and family members from around the country. There has been so much kindness offered to me along the way, and my life is forever changed because of it.

But that’s not the whole story, and I want grievers (or those of you will one day be grieving your own very deep, very personal loss) to know that even when you are well supported, deeply loved and kindly affirmed, the chill of cynicism and doubt can creep into your being. One of the lessons I am still figuring out is how to better align myself — body, mind, spirit — so that my entire self is able to stretch forward.

I don’t quite have the words yet to express what this task (or series of tasks?) of moving toward wholistic settledness involves, but I know this unpredictable angst exists, at least for me, and I wonder if for others.

It’s kind of like this. I have maintained good mental hygiene during this journey: I have been honest with myself, moved away from denial or anger, continued to read deeply and utilize other resources available, tended to personal connections, exposed myself to new opportunities. There are still days when I feel mental distress or perplexity, but I’m learning to shake that off and return to familiar, stabilizing rhythms.

My spirit (I’m using the words “spirit” and “soul” in a relatively synonymous way, although technically they are probably not the same thing exactly) is more solid than it has ever been. I am more deeply rooted and thriving in my internal world in ways I could never have anticipated. I never thought myself to be spiritually shallow, but this experience of loss has enhanced the state of my soul in profound ways. I would still rather be more stunted spiritually and have Claudia with me physically, but this has been a year of spiritual flourishing. When existential doubts and spiritual quagmire attempts to suck me in, I might linger for a moment or two, but I then I shake it off and move on.

My physical health has suffered, a combination of pre-existing issues and periodic waves of depression. There are days when I have to force myself to get out of bed and get on with my day. Writing a daily Substack has helped me with this issue: I know there are others who wait each morning for what I have to say. My mornings are generally very productive and constructive, but afternoons often hit differently. Yesterday my body took the brunt of the grief I continue to process. I could barely move, despair taunting me, cementing my feet to only a few square feet of coverage mostly within my home. But it’s not like that every day. There are days when I am outside, breathing in nature and her healing effects, and my body is refreshed and pleasantly tired.

The challenge I find is successfully integrating those three factors of my life on a regular basis so that at any one time I am functioning wholistically — my mind is engaged, my spirit is flourishing, my body is cooperating. There are moments when that does occur, but they are not frequently enough for me to feel good about it.

And for me, perhaps an individual foible or perhaps one many others face as well, I have a tendency to get stuck in the morass of sticky grief if I am not intentional. Maybe one day I will have a better grasp of the complexities of my life — and perhaps this isn’t directly related to grief at all, maybe it’s simply my constitution — but until then, I’m going to do my best to shake off discouragement and angst and doubt and cynicism.

One step at a time, day by day, I am stretching forward. Even when I’m not sure I want to.