“Last night I dreamt of a tornado,
where I clung to my bed
as the house spun
telling myself over and over
it would be okay.
I stared at the
moon snail wondering
if he too sought
soothing in prayer.
Claws gripping his bed
in his spinning
spiral house.
I stopped and
turned back
toward the sea
feeling the loss
of my story
of perfection
of wholeness
knowing suddenly
that this story
would end just like my dream—
with houses falling from the sky
into shallow water—
safer than you feared,
but more precarious
than you would have hoped.
A story not so much
of safety or rescue
or even homecoming,
but instead, landing
in a new place with
the chance to start again.
”
I’ve been doing a lot of writing and a fair amount of speaking about a place I am calling ‘emergence.’ Emergence is what I am calling the space between healing and growth—an in-between place—a middle space—a pause or rest or reset. In the place where we find ourselves—not fully pre-covid and not completely post covid—we have need of language, attention and understanding of what it means to be in between—and to begin to ponder what it means that we all have the chance –not to return to where we were before—but instead, the chance to start again.
I feel like we all need to remember that beginnings are acts of creation. And creation can be made or it can be grown. Can come from old pieces or new pieces. Can happen fast or slower.
But we are in a new place, and we need to acknowledge and create the space to be new. The space to explore. The space to be curious.
We need to see that emergence demands creation and creativity. That the old playbooks of what worked before may not work for us right now—not in this in-between place—and not as a way to manage the losses we experienced in the last three years. So many people are worried about the youth. So many people are feeling disoriented as they try to regain footing in this new place.
Stop looking for the answers and start asking questions. What is making you feel burned out? What feels undone? What have you missed doing? What was the biggest impact of the pandemic on you? What did you lose? And, what did you gain? What did you gain that you aren’t willing to give up as you start again?
What do the children and teenagers need—now? What is missing? What isn’t working? What is working? What do the children need from adults (and are the adults healthy and recovered enough to provide that?) What do the children and teens need from each other? What doesn’t exist that might help? What weren’t they able to grow during the past three years? How might we create opportunities for remediation of those growth areas? What are areas of untapped potential in our community? Don’t judge the answers. Just listen.
Stop looking for the already made answers for healing and emergence. You won’t find them. During the pandemic I often counseled people to add the suffix: ‘in a pandemic’ to their statements as in: “I am running a virtual meeting in a pandemic.” And, “I am negotiating parenting with my spouse in a pandemic.” I asked them to do this to remind themselves that they couldn’t possibly know the perfect way to do something in a brand new situation — and to help them have some grace during the learning curve. We need a similar way to hold ourselves and each other during this time of emergence.
And now I think the corollary to this idea is to stop imagining that there is a right answer to how we each heal and recover. Healing and recovering from the last three years is an act of creation for each and every one of us. It requires of us not just the task problem-solving with answers and information we already know, but instead using all we know in new ways— it requires creativity. Real creativity—invention—imagination.
Which means, plainly stated, it will not be easy. If you bravely ask the questions above of yourself, your loved ones or your work colleagues—it is highly likely that you will get answers you don’t like the responses to— or you will get answers that demand efforts that will cause discomfort. Maybe it will mean stopping or slowing down. Or starting something completely different. Or making hard choices. Or it will require time, or effort, or attention, or more people.
And it’s not just about individuals. It is also highly likely that the previous systems—whether families, schools, communities and organizations—don’t have all the skills, resources or structures in place to meet the current demands. They too must engage in the act of creation. They too must lose the illusion that the answers they need lie in turning back toward old habits and strategies.
But most of all, perhaps, is the real need to remember that this time of emergence is an especially precious and tender time. New beginnings are one of the hallmarks of healing and integration. In this time after Covid we may indeed be safer than we feared, but more precarious than we hoped. And we have one of those rare chances to start again.
Moon Snail
On a stormy high tide,
near as I dared,
I stood watching waves
clearly devoted to
an invisible power.
For a brief glittering moment
a wave is perfect the way
a flower is perfect
or the way
that I felt today
when I found a
moon snail shell
whole and unbroken.
The chubby grey spiral
a holy communion of roundness
blessing and anointing me
into the club of people
who find unbroken shells.
In blue sky sunshine
I headed home,
basking in the warm
glow of wholeness.
Things would be different now.
O me of newly unbrokenness
and rounded blue grey perfection!
Two blocks from home
I glanced down, catching
a flicker of movement
inside the spiral--
a tiny claw.
Last night I dreamt of a tornado,
where I clung to my bed
as the house spun
telling myself over and over
it would be okay.
I stared at the
moon snail wondering
if he too sought
soothing in prayer.
Claws gripping his bed
in his spinning
spiral house.
I stopped and
turned back
toward the sea
feeling the loss
of my story
of perfection
of wholeness
knowing suddenly
that this story
would end just like my dream--
with houses falling from the sky
into shallow water--
safer than you feared,
but more precarious
than you would have hoped.
A story not so much
of safety or rescue
or even homecoming,
but instead, landing
in a new place with
the chance to start again.
© 2023 Gretchen L. Schmelzer, PhD
April is National Poetry month so I am going to work more poetry, one way or another, into the blog this month— mine, others— directly or indirectly.