How to Survive the Storm

a simple plan for carrying on when the clouds are thick

Every Spring, I am reacquainted with the depths of my capacity to hibernate. I panic. I haven’t seen my neighbors in a meaningful way for months. I haven’t invited friends over in ages. This annual moment of clarity always makes me feel like a fraud. As someone who has built a career on community and togetherness, who do I actually think I am? Yes, I fall into the same rut every winter, but it’s so cozy and warm. We have candles and hot tea and sweatpants in our cave! No one cares when I camp out in my bed well before sunset (which happens around 5pm.) By late January, just the thought of other people can feel exhausting.

This spring, fitting with the overall vibe of 20205, it has been even harder to get back into the swing of things. Still, I’m acutely aware of my clanging nostalgia for a full, rowdy house. I do miss having people in my home, the comfortable warmth of it all. It’s like exercising or going to the dentist. I often don’t feel like doing it, but I am always glad I did.

Recently, the group chat activated with a friend asking, “Is tonight an option to hang? If someone else is willing to host or if we go grab dinner somewhere we are game!”

With all my heart, I in love with a last-minute, “I miss you all and would love to see you, but my house isn’t an option. Is yours?” (Shannan’s translation) At first, my house didn’t seem like an option either, on account of the hibernating and two mildly-antisocial teenagers. I decided there was probably no harm in tidying up a bit¹, and remembered my friends are not the type to judge or compare.

Houses are always a little messy. People live in them.

I said yes, come over.

I had grand plans to make something delicious with the chicken thawing in the fridge, but the day had other ideas, and I knew I was running the risk of burning myself out (again) before sunset. Instead, Cory picked up two giant refrigerated pizzas from Aldi which, upon review, were edible, but not at all tasty. Oh well. (Me, later: “Have the Aldi pizzas gotten worse or have I gotten more snobby about food?”)

Friends trickled in, one with a toddler in tow, one without her spouse, who was working late. We sat around the kitchen table and gabbed. That’s the only word for it. Now and then, someone would hop up to grab what they needed from my kitchen. Cory and I argued (mildly) and they all weighed in. We laughed a bunch. Ordinary bliss.