Lately, I haven’t been the best version of myself.
I used to be the one making waves. Now? I’m just trying not to drown.
I’m not kvetching. I’m not blaming the coronavirus. I’m not asking people to throw me a life preserver. I simply need to be alone and float quietly for a bit.
I’m depleted. I don’t have it in me to do what gives my life meaning, which is to uplift others.
In the last month, I lost a close friend to cancer, I ended an almost three-year relationship, I sold my house and dealt with the drama of both of my college-student sons deciding whether to attend school online, and I still haven’t figured out how to redesign my youngest son’s bar mitzvah this October in a COVID-19 world. So, yes, I’m struggling.
I used to be extraordinary. OK, well, maybe really productive. Fine — I moved fast and got stuff done.
I had endless energy for self-care, for my three sons, my wealth management clients, entrepreneurs, the San Diego single Jewish community and random strangers. I had time for everyone and always hosted events, striving to build community.
I used to be the one making waves. Now? I’m just trying not to drown. I’m not asking people to throw me a life preserver. I simply need to be alone and float quietly for a bit.
Today, I’m happy if I take care of myself, my kids, my clients and keep my house clean.
That doesn’t look like the old me.
Basic self-care, yes; wearing makeup and heels, no. Kids fed, yes; cooking, no. Clients’ investment portfolios managed, yes; solving their personal problems, no. House tidy, yes; me cleaning it, no.
I need a break, a pause, a timeout and permission to cocoon.
I feel like a failure admitting this. I’m energized by others, not by solitude.
I’m an extrovert. What the hell am I thinking that being quiet is healing?
My friends keep inviting me out. I feel guilty because I keep saying no. I’m afraid that if I disappear for a while, they’ll write me off.
I feel I’m only as good as the last good deed I did.
In the past when I was single and felt down, I’d do the online dating game to feed my ego. Today, I have no desire to flirt, date or even be touched.
I’d rather lie on the edge of my king-sized bed and drift off to sleep, holding my own hand.
I’m enough for me right now.
My life today can be defined in how my walks with my dog, Lexi, have changed. I used to make a call before her leash was even on. By the time we’d be back, I’d close a deal, introduce a couple, pay bills, arrange a kid playdate and plan a Shabbat dinner.
Today, I walk her quietly — no phone — look at nature, listen to the birds and feel the air on my skin. I don’t think of what I need to do, I’m simply present without the sense of urgency to be extraordinary or even productive, but instead … to just be.
It’s not intentional. I’m no Zen master. It’s merely all I can do right now.
I’m in the flow, not causing the flow.
The dynamic that keeps me still is uncertainty. The uncertainty of the world has dampened my desire to move, swim or make any waves.
But there is a small swell of joy that keeps me buoyed through the week. Every Sunday night, I study Torah virtually with a woman I’ve never met in person — Jessica Weiss — through the “Partners in Torah” program.
Before COVID-19, I yearned to learn the ethics that define our people, so I’m studying Pirkei Avot (Ethics of the Fathers). I’ve canceled almost everything in my life but this. Why? Because a stranger is making time to give to me, the way I used to give to strangers.
I guess that is what I need most right now — to receive.
Although I’ve never felt this way before, I’m confident I’ll get through it, rise up on a wave and lift others alongside me.
Until then, I encourage you to give to a stranger. You never know if your act of kindness is what keeps them afloat.
Audrey Jacobs is sixth-generation Texas Jew who lives in San Diego. She is a financial adviser and has three sons.
