4. Feel understood

Changed plans, sharing or not sharing, managing stress

What I’m up to

I had this newsletter all ready to go, intending to publish it right before we boarded our flight to return to Taiwan today, and then — surprise! — we received our travel covid test results back and three of four of us tested positive. This was astounding news, as we have been incredibly vigilant all summer. We have no idea how we got it and, at the moment, we are asymptomatic. At any rate, we are stuck in Pennsylvania for at least another two weeks. I went to bed so upset, so anxious, and so homesick. But today, I am determined to see this extra time here as a gift. This change of plans means extra time in this beautiful place. People at work are understanding and I will still (fingers-crossed) be back for the first day of school. None of us actually feel sick, and we are stranded together, not apart. So… I choose to be thankful.

We are trying to make the most of our remaining days here, especially now that we are realizing our visit here (plus quarantine when we get back) will be our entire summer, not just half our summer. The kids worked through their to-do lists with Grammy, which included a family Amazing Race challenge (I had to eat fried worms and climb a chimney), lots of swimming in nearby swimming holes, and a picnic in the woods.

In other news, Anna decided she wanted to learn how to play the guitar. By three days in, she had figured out how to play Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds,” Guster’s “Ramona,” Woody Guthrie’s “This Land is Your Land,” and Death Cab for Cuties’ “I’ll Follow You into the Dark.” Great line-up so far, if I do say so myself.

What I’m reading

I finished (and recommend) Dave Chang’s Eat a Peach. I have such mixed feelings about this memoir. I so respect Chang’s creative vision and his determination to succeed. I struggle, however, with how he treats people (to be fair, he clearly struggles with how he treats people, too) and his tendency to push himself beyond his limits, often to the detriment of his mental health and his relationships. Ultimately, I admire his courage to share honestly about his life, especially knowing recounting his experiences publicly would likely invite challenges to his narrative.

This memoir reminded me how much I love reading about food and the food world. A few years ago, my friend Lena suggested I try “reading cookbooks like novels,” and it was such an enriching, enjoyable experience. I also once read food critic Ruth Reichl’s entire backlist in one weekend — also a wonderful experience.

This week, I flew through Sorrow and Bliss by Meg Mason and feel so lucky to have read it. It’s funny and dark and true. It’s about a woman who struggles with her mental health her whole life, always questioning what in her behavior is her illness and what is just her. Most poignantly, the book explores the impact of mental illness on marriage and family relationships.

Without divulging too much about the story, I found especially painful the protagonist’s rocky adjustment to wellness. I can relate to this as someone with chronic anxiety who spent the first half of adulthood thinking I was just a bad person; it has taken years of being “better” to figure out how to live in health.

I have been fortunate to have read so many books this summer that shed light on various aspects of my experience: Patron Saints of Nothing, America is Not the Heart, Days of Distraction, and now Sorrow and Bliss.

“Great books help you understand, and they help you feel understood.” — John Green

What I’m thinking about

My friend Christine runs Enneagram for the Expat. She requested self-care thoughts from 3s. Here’s what I contributed:

[For 3s, s]elf-care means devoting time to an interest with zero concern about the outcome. This is near impossible for me but one trick is to pursue a time-based routine instead of an outcome-based hobby. For example, making a goal like “I will paint every day for 30 minutes while listening to a podcast” allows me a freedom to fail and space to grow in a way that a goal like “I will paint one hundred paintings this year and post them on Instagram” doesn’t.

This is something I’ve been processing as I’ve been learning how to watercolor this year. Once I started sharing my paintings, I began feeling pressure to perform. While sharing can provide positive accountability, it also subtly shifts my perspective from practice-makes-progress to achievement and approval-seeking. Yet sharing can also provide a positive impetus for continued growth (thus this newsletter). It’s still a tricky balance.

3s are all about appearing successful and thus, sharing accomplishments is almost reflexive. But I am working to learn the distinction between what's helpful and what’s detrimental.

What (else) I’m learning

This Live Free Creative podcast episode gives very helpful tips on how to manage stress (skip to the second half of the podcast or transcript for the stress segment). Particularly helpful to me is the reminder that most stress occurs when we are preoccupied with possible eventualities. Focusing on the present often reminds us that things are, actually, just fine.

What I’m making

Last minute online purchases, including a new carry-on suitcase (mine broke on the way here) and a gig bag for Anna’s gifted vintage guitar.

New quarantine hotel reservations (no luck so far).

Progress on some creative writing I’ve been working on periodically.

What I’ve saved

My friend Carrie Givens wrote this beautiful reflection on Lin-Manuel Miranda’s approach to joy and grief (warning: In the Heights spoilers).

My former student (now friend!) Anna writes Girl Power, a weekly newsletter. In this week’s issue, she included this excerpt from Frederick Douglass’s speech “What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?”:

“I say it with a sad sense of the disparity between us. I am not included within the pale of this glorious anniversary! Your high independence only reveals the immeasurable distance between us. The blessings in which you, this day, rejoice, are not enjoyed in common. — The rich inheritance of justice, liberty, prosperity and independence, bequeathed by your fathers, is shared by you, not by me. The sunlight that brought life and healing to you, has brought stripes and death to me. This Fourth [of] July is yours, not mine. You may rejoice, I must mourn.

This was written in 1852, but this — unequal access to justice, liberty, prosperity, and independence — holds true for many Americans today. It will take acknowledging hard truths without defensiveness to make our country what we want it to be: a country in which “Independence Day” includes everyone.

Until next time,

Kate