Finding goodness, acknowledging grief

My life has been filled with such goodness lately:
- a family trip to Spain, including

   * several floats in the best swimming pools I've ever been in

   * time with my kids, who bring me such joy

   * an amazing Bruce Springsteen concert in San Sebastian (out of the blue - didn't even know he was there til a chance coffee shop conversation!) (if you're a fan: The Promised Land!)

- a careful reading Elena Aguilar's new coaching book Arise

- making some great new dishes inspired by summer freshness (grilled corn & nectarine & mint salad - yes, please, sprinkle some feta on that!)

- co-leading a coaching institute with a beloved colleague that built community, deepened understanding and gave us new skills for our practice (anchor chart we created, above)

I shared with my therapist that I am definitely focused on steadiness (my word of the year), working to keep my balance in a world filled with hate-filled political actions that shake my foundation and hurt so many kids and families.

Yet...

Yet I'm still feeling malaise every day, sometimes for long stretches. I avoid the news, then gobble it up and make myself sick. I am letting some of my stacks and tasks sit untouched, undone. I am not prioritizing good sleep. I know I need to walk the dog and get outside and take deep breaths, and often times, I can rally to do that. But I'm also carrying something heavy in my head and heart.

I shared this aching mood with a friend, and she told me about anticipatory grief, a concept she heard about from Brené Brown, during the pandemic. I committed to looking it up, and found a Harvard Business Review article that hit the spot, because it focused on some solutions: naming the feeling as grief, allowing it to happen, feeling it. Then moving through it, because feelings need action. (And I am an action-y person, by nature.) As I write today, I realize that I know these things - I just read about it in Arise; I felt the antidote in Spain; I make space for others to learn and take action. I know these things. That the world is filled with such goodness, and that I can not allow hate and darkness to drive out love and light.

Coming to the page is a comfort, pushing me to use my words, my power, my actions, to get going through the grief of a unkind world and keep making goodness. When I'm done reading your Slices, I'm going to put on some Bruce Springsteen and walk the dog.