Some notes on happiness

from a medically and emotionally boring mom

The other day, at my annual well woman checkup, the nurse gave me a form to complete, a standard mental/emotional health check-in. How often had I felt hopeless in the past week? How often depressed, how often unable to sleep? I checked 0 days, then wrote an asterisk with the red pen she’d given me, and added:

* but the news is very depressing.

I handed the form back, and as she entered my responses into the computer, she remarked, “The news is terrible. I don’t watch it.” She said that her home country is Haiti, and the news from there is almost always hard, so she waits for friends to tell her what’s happening. I agreed that this was a good strategy, and after she left the room I thought how difficult it must be, as a nurse who has to help people with all kinds of problems, all day long, to even make room in your mind for war, or climate crisis, or other disasters so far away you can’t do anything (much) about them. I’d added my asterisk because it surprised me, answering quickly and honestly, that I hadn’t felt hopeless, depressed, or sleepless. Despite the news I’d listened to and read about the war in Gaza, the terrible suffering of Palestinian and Israeli children and families, as well as some alarming new revelations about the climate crisis and the disastrous and racist new congressional maps in North Carolina—I was sleeping? And doing generally okay? Was something wrong with me?

My kind, beloved doctor (who was wearing a “Peace”-in-many-languages tie) pronounced me “medically boring” after my checkup. I suppose I am emotionally and psychologically kind of boring too, at least right now. After school I reported this diagnosis to the kids, and Harriet was indignant. “You’re not boring! You’re a very fun mom!” she said. I explained that from the doctor’s point of view it was a good report because it meant that I wasn’t in pain or sick.

Like the nurse who checked me in, I need to stay as healthy as I can (physically, emotionally) so I can help take care of other people: Bea and Harriet and Richard, to start with, but also sometimes my students, my friends, my other family members. Also so I can do the work I do at NC State, and in the community, and in my writing. I thought about how many people I know in caregiving roles—all the moms, dads, teachers, bus drivers, cooks, shop keepers, dentists, nurses, and so on—and how what I hope for them is peace and happiness and the ability to sleep and feel hopeful about the world and the future.

Later that afternoon we took a medium-long hike. Bea didn’t want to go, at first—she’s at the age where she’d rather read in her room, and Harriet is at the age where she always wants to go. It was “too wet,” Bea said (it rained that morning). But I knew if I insisted, she’d be happy that she went. So I insisted.

Once we were at the river, of course they didn’t want to leave. We walked on logs, then climbed down the riverbank and put our hands in the chilly, clear water. A good place to start, if you’re feeling down or stuck or you need to reset. Be outside. Feel the wind, the sun, the water, the dirt. Smell some leaves—pawpaw leaves smell great this time of year. Look for animals—we visited the vernal pool where we’d let some frogs go a couple of weeks ago, and sure enough, there was hopping into the cold, leafy-dark water.

Some other things that are helping:

-We’re listening to the Ramona Quimby Collection, narrated by Stockard Channing—a fall tradition for us.

-We’re all into different books on our own. Right now I’m reading Middlemarch and also Wild Girls, a new nonfiction book by Tiya Miles (more on that one next week—it’s amazing). I’ve just re-listened to A Swim in a Pond in the Rain, and plan to listen next to Mexican Gothic, which Rachel Gutman-Wei recommended in an Atlantic culture survey as perfect for spooky season.

-Yesterday I spent part of the morning texting at length with friends I don’t get to see that often. Harriet accidentally texted with my friend Marsha, who thought it was some kind of young people slang, which I guess it was. Then the girls and I went to their school’s Fall Festival, where another mom and the art teacher and I unexpectedly spent the day painting faces. It was funny to hear the kids’ different, varyingly ambitious ideas (many requests for unknown-to-us cartoon characters, or “I want to be a fox”), and so gratifying that they were actually all happy with our inexpert attempts. So, I guess this one is about connection, however you find it.

-Speaking of connection, I just ordered two books for dear-to-me people: a pre-order of Jill McCorkle’s fantastic, funny, deeply wise new collection, Old Crimes, for my cousin Anne in Charlotte (Park Road Books), and the new collection Out There Screaming: An Anthology of Black Horror for my friend Taylor (Malaprop’s), a terrific writer who also teaches a popular horror class at UNC-A (this collection features work by our friend Cadwell Turnbull, whose new novel We Are the Crisis will be out soon). The next time I’m at McIntyre’s I am also grabbing a couple of Wild Girls for two Durham friends who are wild girls themselves.

What’s helping you, Frog Troublers? Even if you’re not currently medically or emotionally boring--what makes you feel a lift, or able to put on your Peace-in-many-languages tie and keep going?

(I should asterisk the above and say that I also take an antidepressant, which helps with my anxiety and cyclical low feelings.)

You can donate to the Palestinian Children’s Relief Fund here or to the World Food Programme. I don’t know if it helps, but I take Michael Moore seriously and he encourages artists/writers/creatives to sign this letter to President Biden calling for a ceasefire and de-escalation of violence in Gaza. Across party lines, he says, Americans agree on the need for a ceasefire and an end to violence.

Love and peace and good health to all.

P.S. Speaking of McIntyre’s, did you know that Jill McCorkle and Jayne Ann Phillips will be in conversation there this week? They’ll be talking about Night Watch, Phillips’s new novel, from 6:30-7:30, on Wednesday October 25. I hear there will be wine!