Stress is cumulative. That’s one of those adages that you hear so many times, but it doesn’t seem to penetrate until you hear it as you are living it. Now I hear it. Stress is cumulative. It feels like a toxin that builds up in your system until it reaches a level where it starts causing damage. And like so many other things, just stopping the accumulation of stress isn’t enough. Stress seems to have the half life of uranium-232, and like Covid, there is no pill you can take to make it go away. So not only do you have to stop accumulating stress, you have to then figure out a way to reduce stress, so it slowly leaches from your system, hopefully sending you back into the world of manageable levels. Unfortunately, this is not some sort of self-help blog where I regale you with the ten simple steps to a stress free life, this is our life in the pandemic. Stress is not always negotiable. I don’t get to choose to not worry about every interaction I have every time I leave the apartment. If I don’t want Covid, I don’t get a choice about wearing a mask. I don’t get to go and meet a friend for dinner at a restaurant. We haven’t gone to a restaurant since March. Hell, we haven’t hugged someone outside our family since March, and we are in the hugging capital of the world. I have probably averaged one real face to face conversation a week with someone not living with me in that time. That’s ugly.
I think that we had convinced ourselves that we were rejuvenated after our June and July holidays, but I think we simply were doing enough positive things that they offset all the negatives and our stress level plateaued. I now understand just how precarious that balance was because school has been that extra layer of stress that we weren’t ready for. And it wasn’t that teensy little straw that broke the camel’s back. It was the Wile E. Coyote anvil dropping from the sky. Today, tonight, too much is too hard. There is no joy in the Mudville of distance learning. It is all the stress, and more, of teaching, with ten percent of the joy. It turns out, I really do like children. What I wouldn’t give right now to solve a meaningless argument over the proper procedure for sharing the one pink ruler at the table. I would smile to again see a five year old look me in the eye as I give them directions, and then completely ignore everything I said. I look so forward to reteaching the short vowel sounds so many times to that one student that I question my sanity, because at least I would get to see more than a flat expression on Zoom.
So, if it is not abundantly clear, today, things are not all rainbows and unicorns. It is Thursday of Week 5 of this year, and Month 5 overall, of distance learning and I might just be a little tired. But this is our life tonight, in this moment, and that’s the story these words are meant to portray. Tomorrow will be better. We will be ok. We have a three day weekend ahead of us and an extra day will make all the difference right now. If this makes you feel bad, that was not my intention. This is simply our story of today. If you want to help, send my wife a text or email telling her you are thinking of her, and don’t be upset when she doesn’t reply. If your children know my children, they would appreciate the same. As for me, I’m ok, I just wrote it all out and won’t respond to texts anyways because I’ll be asleep on the couch.
As always, be safe, be happy, be well,
Adam
