One of the icebreakers I do in some of my trainings would be the question, “If money were no object, where and what would you be doing?” I’ve received some pretty epic answers, but one of my favourites was this woman who first identified that she was exhausted, then proceeded to say that she would go alone to an island and just relax.
“Oh, so you’d take a big vacation, eh?” I said.
“Uh, hell no, Jason. I’d own the freaking island. And for the first month, nobody would be allowed to speak to me or, heck, even be near me. BUT…I know that would get lonely, so after that first month, I’d invite my friends and family…but only at specific times…” she said.
I felt that answer down to the depths of my soul. After three years of 🤷♂️, it feels like it's time for a break—a break with no interruptions, nobody else's schedules, and just straight solitude. Yet, as nice as it would be to be on an island alone for a while, we're meant to be in community with one another.
We need each other.
We’ve leaned on community for the majority of our lives. We created little communities at school, in our neighbourhoods, in workshops, workplaces, churches, and many arenas. Community helps us to respond to change as we can bounce differing ideas off of others. Community helps us to boost our sense of empathy toward others. Community brings fun and joy into our lives and comfort and support in difficult times. Community can push us out of our comfort zone so that we try new things; it will hold us accountable and give us a sense of belonging.
As we have seen in the past couple of years, a lack of community is incredibly difficult. It leads to social isolation and loneliness. Interestingly, even before the pandemic, we were already experiencing an epidemic of loneliness. Dr. Vivek Murthy (the United States Surgeon general) has indicated that one of the factors for this pre-pandemic epidemic (say that five times fast…) is driven by the accelerated pace of life and how technology has impacted our social interactions.1
If you’re anything like me, connecting with friends and family on Zoom or Facetime wasn’t enough. I could text a friend, but it didn’t replace being in community with them! Early in 2020, I remember talking with my good friend on the phone several times until I finally suggested we go for a walk and chat in person. The difference between the telephone conversations and the walking conversations was incredibly different!
Grief and Mourning
As we’ve talked about, much of the emotions we’ve felt about the last couple of years have been grief, and it’s essential to draw the distinction between two words that we interchangeably: grief and mourning.
Grief is the feelings and thoughts we experience internally after (any) loss. It’s that internal meaning that we give to this external loss. Many describe these feelings as sadness, confusion, loneliness, anxiety, fear, pain, despair, confusion, dread, and even rage.
Mourning is taking those internal feelings of grief and expressing them externally to the world around us. In other words, like Alan Wolfelt often says, mourning is grief gone public. There is much that impacts what this mourning looks like: things like culture, customs, and rituals that we subscribe to. Mourning looks like crying, talking with those around us about the loss, sharing stories, and other actions.2
Why is that important?
Because we all grieve, but we do not all mourn. That’s important because we can experience those thoughts and feelings internally and do our best to wrestle and make sense of those losses with ourselves, but it isn’t until we mourn that we can start to heal. Everyone grieves and mourns differently, but when we are able to mourn with those around us is when we can become comforted, supported - held in those difficult moments. It's in those difficult moments that we allow ourselves to be loved, despite our pain.
Let me give you an example:
A few weeks after we lost our son Ezra, a good friend came over and sat across from me on our back deck. As we cracked open the top of a beer, my friend asked me, “How are you doing?"
By that point, I had a pre-rehearsed monologue that I could spout off without even thinking, so I jumped in, “Well, my wife is doing alright…the kids are doing as you would expect…” and so on. As I sat there, out-of-body, giving my response, my friend sat there, holding that difficult space and nodding comfortably. As I finished, I saw him shift in his chair, settling himself into the woven fabric. He took a sip, opened up his posture, and said,
“How are YOU really doing?”
It was like my pain and suffering were blocked up in an unpenetrable dam, and this was the question that blew the whole damn thing up. It was when my grief went public. And when it did, it invited me to take an honest look at where I was, say what was on my mind, and begin to process my pain and suffering.
There’s something beautiful about open and honest communication with someone in your community. There’s something about breaking bread with others and just chatting about what’s happening in your life. There’s something about those old back porches that empower us to mourn our griefs.
I got lucky, my community came to me that day, and that doesn’t always happen.
Will You Help?
Whenever I’m on stage talking about grief, I typically ask the audience two questions. The first is - “Who here would help someone if asked?” Most people raise their hands enthusiastically 🙋. Then I ask the second question - “Who here will ask for help?” As you can imagine, the majority of hands drop, and only a few remain.
Sometimes, our community comes to us, and they intuitively know what we need (I have a whole course about how to journey with folks through their grief.). Other times, though, we have to ask our community for help. As scary as that is, just remember that most folks really do want to help you!
Other times, there are reasons that we don’t turn to our friends/family/neighbours/etc. It could be because we need professional help or assistance, or it even could be that we are afraid that no one else will understand. Or maybe you’re like me, and you thought people would find out just how messed up you are if you said what was on your mind (no judgment here!). Therapy helped me find a non-judgemental place to process my grief and anxiety (and a whole bunch of other stuff too).
So whether it’s a paid person in your community, someone in your friend or family group, workplace, spiritual community, or heck, the gas station attendant, reach out to your folks. Chat with them. Check-in with them. Be honest with them about how you are doing. Hold space for each other.
The amazing thing about community is that we aren’t meant to do this life alone. We’re not meant to be on an island by ourselves, though that would be peaceful for a time!
We need each other.
Life is brutal. Life is beautiful. We’re in this together.
This is the last post in our series on How To Process the Pandemic. Here's the rundown of the first three posts:
The Subtle Art of Processing a Pandemic
Keep Going, Don't Stop - And Other Lies I've told myself
https://www.nytimes.com/2022/04/20/nyregion/loneliness-epidemic.html - An interesting article that talks more about loneliness and the true impact of being lonely.
Dr. Wolfelt has some incredible resources around grief and loss through the Centre for Loss and Life Transition. This post is one example: https://www.centerforloss.com/grief/six-needs-mourning/