.SOMETIMES RAW.

COVID-19 has made me think a lot. A couple of days ago I woke up at 1:30 in the morning feeling like it is time to wake up, or at least certain that I would not be going back to sleep. So I was in bed, wide awake, and chewed on thoughts that made me feel like I am running an emotional marathon even though when I returned to the present, I remembered that I have not moved an inch. Perhaps an hour or two hours have gone by, and I couldn’t even remember what I was thinking, even though it seemed so urgent while I was thinking it. I am still physically in exactly the same place I was when I woke up all that time ago. Lately, this seems to be a recent theme on the internal hamster wheel. Do you ever feel like you have run an emotional marathon even though technically, nothing specific has happened? Or things you want to change in your life but don’t know how to?

COVID-19 has changed my view on a bunch of things. What began as just an idea to own less stuff has changed the way I view myself and the world around me in significant ways. One of the changes is my reevaluation of how society defines success. Too often, those who make and spend and keep the most resources for themselves are labeled as the successful ones. However, some of the best people I know would not be regarded as successful in worldly terms. Precisely because they have decided to spend and focus their resources on less materialistic things.

These people are far too rare, or at least, they do not get enough recognition. Instead, it seems ingrained to desire and appreciate the praise and the admiration of others. And because of that, many people will compromise greater and more worthwhile pursuit for the facade of temporal, worldly success. To that end, and because of how my view of the world and its people has begun to change, I will offer a short list of things that no longer impress me:

Clothing/Accessories: Quality and manufacturing practices are important. Quality over quantity. I never bought a lot of clothing but now it is even less. I am and was never impressed by clothing, a logo on anything, shoes, a purse, or a watch. Instead, I admire people who are confident in timeless fashion and seek to make an impression by their character. Hey, by the way, while the size of the rock on someone’s finger or the jewelry they are wearing is noticed by some (the weird ones), most are not even looking and they don’t care.

Car: The goal of my vehicle is to safely transport a person from point A to point B. Reliability is important, so is comfort. Especially if I spend lots of time in it. This does not mean it has to be a Q7 or BMW X-whatever. There are other, way cheaper, and good cars out there. Most luxury cars appeal to a different motivation, they are no longer just about transportation. They often appeal to a need to broadcast success or to get noticed. Even if that means impressing strangers for a couple of seconds at a red light.

House: To me, a house is supposed to provide shelter and an opportunity for stability. Over the course of my life, I have moved many times and have experienced the pride that comes from providing and creating a home. But, I intentionally chose to downsize and rent/buy a smaller home. It is a decision I have never regretted. And to this day, when I drive past a large house, the only thing I can think of is how much happier I am in a small one. My dream is to find a small house with a (large) backyard to grow fruit and veggies.

Work: Retirement seems to be the ultimate for most people. Live life to the fullest. Enjoy every day. Work is…. well, it’s work. But, there is a life besides work and work is not everything. These days, I am grateful to still have a job. So, many people have lost everything. But if you are unhappy with your job then stop complaining. There are only solutions: Change. Find a balance. Quit that job that drains your energy. Be creative. Study. Do something. Also, I think it is important to stop impressing others with the things you own. Rather inspire them by the life you live.

To sum this up, one of the best parts of COVID-19 was to see the world through my son’s eyes. The world felt/feels so magical. It is not just a city block with buildings. We are not restricted or quarantined. The world is a giant ant hill or a maze and we need to discover new things. Other COVID-19 highlights that made me control that chaos are:

• Talking to my parents and brother. Always.
• Being loved.
• Spending time with my partner, long conversations, cake, reading (in the reading lounge), laughing together, and taking long walks. Simply, just being together.
• Getting letters and packages by mail (only the ones with a sender count).
• When the moon is out during the daytime.
• When trees are still dripping after the rain. And the awesome smell.
• Kissing and hugging.
• Picnics on a blanket.
• Observing a turtle eating a strawberry. Cute little tongue.

It is always the little things.

My parents still live in the house we moved into when I was five. Or six? Something like that. It does not matter because every time I come home, I have the instant feeling of comfort. And so many memories of my childhood. Hanging out with friends, playing Polly Pocket (kid of the 80s), building mazes in the field, then running away from the farmer. Life was good. Easy. There were no problems.

Then, there was school. I always loved studying and learning new things. And (plateau) shoes, lunch boxes, and sharp pencils. There were birthday- and Halloween parties, and hours of talks with my friend L. from our bedroom windows across the street. I roller-skated in my driveway and on the street in front of the house that leads to a dead-end. I walked to and back home from the bus stop on my own. No need to lock the back door when we played out front. I thought (and of course still do) my mother was the most beautiful woman in the world and my father is/was a strong man who could build awesome things and always protects me. A dad who could snore on the couch as we all stood around and teased him loudly. I wish this comfortable feeling for every child on earth.

Currently, I am aware of two children who are not afforded that luxury and it hurts me badly to watch this. Many others also had houses filled with chaos and abuse, and they learned to keep their mouths shut and to stay out of trouble. I was dealt with two loving parents who encouraged me to be curious. This safety net combined with the small rebel inside of me meant I did a lot of silly things to try to make life seem exciting. Our little town of Coburg, Bavaria, is quiet and homogenous, with many small communities around, small ranch houses and farms on tree-lined streets littered with pine needles. The only thing we feared was the neighbor’s dog. Coburg is sleepy, and to a restless young girl like me, it often felt like a ghost town. I yearned for adventure and spent a lot of my youth in my own head, creating elaborate fantasies that felt grown-up. Fantasies to move as far away as possible.

Otherwise, the streets and woods around my house were a perfect setting for fake mischief. My friends and I would spend all afternoon pretending we had run away and had to live on our own. We tried to make a fire in the park. L. and I smoked one cigarette someone gave us and swore to never smoke again. We also would sneak out at dusk with a pair of binoculars and search the streets for murderers.

After school, I would do a bit of homework, eat ravenously, and then hop on my bike and coast down the streets. Riding fast and helmetless just because. I would pedal furiously up to the edge of the woods and jump off my bike to hide in the bushes imagining how ridiculous my friends would feel when they realized they had walked right past me. Again, life was good.

On long car trips up to Northern Germany (St. Peter Ording) for our yearly camping trips at the ocean, I would make my siblings pretend they were deaf while we sat in the backseat. The car was our playground while my dad drove for hours with this weird nervous eye-twitch of annoyance. We would communicate in made-up sign language as we sped down the Autobahn, in the hope that a passing car would see us and feel pity for the beautiful family with three deaf children. When you have a comfortable and loving family, sometimes you yearn for a dance on the edge. This can lead to an overactive imagination, but it is also the reason why some kids in Coburg do drugs these days. And probably even way back when but we had no clue what we were looking at.

And then, there was V. We met in kindergarten and our mothers instantly became very close friends, too. In kindergarten, she was usually dressed in a princess dress and cried all day. I was dressed in a homemade sweater (possibly even knitted), corduroys, and short brown hair (“because it is easier to maintain”). Remember, this was still the 80s, which says more about my mother’s wonderful acceptance and creativity and a bit of my weirdness and less about my fashion choices at that time. Actually, not much has changed in all these years, except my hair is long now. So, V. and I hit it off instantly and are super close to this day. We had and have each other’s backs even when other’s were talking behind them. We had the right balance of humor and pathos mixed with a pinch of weird -and craziness.

As we grew up, V. remained my comfort zone even though our ways parted for some time. This is life. Everybody did their own thing for a while, but we were always connected and updated about each other through our moms who hung out quite frequently. And then V’s mother got sick. Suddenly, the world was small and tight. “Our parents never die or get sick”, we used to say. The inevitability of death became a new nightmare. I don’t remember when I first heard of V’s mom getting seriously sick, but it was in that way young children receive news, a watered-down version that is a combination of investigating and straight-up eavesdropping. I remember speaking to V. on the phone several times and she seemed very lost but also very strong. I also remember my incredible paralysis throughout the whole thing. I wanted the whole thing to go away. I wanted us to be kids again sitting in my kitchen and eat cake while V’s mom tells us stories and takes us to the movies after.

I lived in Canada when V.’s mom passed away and I didn’t do a very good job of being there for her. I knew she was not alone and I did that classic thing of thinking I should just leave everyone alone and wait for the sad parties to reach out when they need help. I remember I felt so sad and it unlocked deep feelings and cut through my numbness that our parents will get older and eventually pass away; hopefully just of old age.

But let’s not end on this sad note. Let’s end by pointing out positive ways to feel alive. You can tell someone you are there for them and love them. You can help people who need help with real bad guys. Or you can do one of these Ironman things. Or ask for help. Or write. Because writing is more than content. More than the stories told. It is healing.

I always had a job, so when I had my son I initially didn’t assume I would stop working. I took leave without pay and slowed down, which I was happy to do. I was grateful that I could. Most can’t. However, I had not planned of being a full-time stay-at-home-mom. This is not to say I think being a stay-at-home-mom is not a job or okay. It most certainly is. It’s just not for me. It may be good for you, not for me.

The whole business of working mothers and stay-at-home mothers is so touchy (or tetchy; I spent a rather long conversation with a work-buddy from Scotland the other day). The subject inherently sucks. Not a week goes by without annoying and bullshit articles claiming breast milk makes kids better liars. Many mothers torture themselves and each other, and all of it leads to a lot of women-on-women crime.

Here are some of the highlights I experienced:

I am introduced to someone as “Joel’s mom” rather than my own name, which apparently doesn’t matter.

Me, as a working mom, am at a museum on a Saturday afternoon and friends (who see me alone) ask, “What are you doing out? Where is your son? Who is watching him?”

I sat on the bench at the playground and read my book when a new mother (out of nowhere) told me how she breastfeeds her baby because she “just wants her baby to be healthy.” And if I chose to breastfeed, too. And what kind of organic food I gave and give my child.

A stay-at-home-mom says, “You shouldn’t give your son bananas for breakfast. They are full of sugar. Plus, bananas are not the only fruit. Karl loves strawberries. You should give your son strawberries.”

A stay-at-home-mom acts like she is too busy to return a WhatsApp message. I know you are on your phone most of the day. I just knoooooooow.

A stay-at-home-mom talks about how she doesn’t work because “the kids are only young once” and she doesn’t “want to miss a thing.”

A stay-at-home-mom needs a nanny, can afford one, and refuses to hire one, and in doing so denies herself some much-needed personal time and self-care.

A stay-at-home-mom approaches a working mom and grills her about how many hours she works. She gets really interested in what time the working mother leaves in the morning and comes home at night. Then she comments, “I honestly don’t know how you do it.”

I have gotten the last one a lot, and it got my blood boiling. When I heard those words I didn’t hear “I don’t know HOW you do it.” I just heard “I don’t know how you COULD do it.” I would be feeling overworked and guilty and overwhelmed and suddenly I would be struck over the head by what felt like someone else’s bullshit. It was an emotional drive-by. A random act of woman-on-woman violence. In my fantasy, I would answer, “What do you mean how do I do it? Do you really want to know the most insane story of my nanny’s schedule? Do you want to know how I balance child care, aftercare, kindergarten, and the different ways I manipulate and negotiate work if necessary to help me put my kid first when needed? Also, I need to work because I need an income so my son and I can survive!” Instead of my fantasy answer, I answer, “Ambivalence. Drugs and robots!” The ultimate answer would obviously be, “You don’t know how I do it. Because you don’t do it. You couldn’t. What do you do again?”

See what I did there? CRIME and I deserve punishment. There is an unspoken pact that women are supposed to follow. Some tell me I should feel guilty about being away from my child. But I don’t and I love my job. Mothers who stay at home are supposed to pretend they are bored and wish they were doing more corporate things. They don’t and they love their job. If we all just stick to the plan there will be less hate on the streets. #mothersmatter

But let me try to answer the question for real. Do you want to know how I do it?

Time management. Simple as that. Being a single parent requires a lot of planning, pushing, and pulling. I figured out a way for my son and I that works just fine. Of course, there is the occasional emergency-sick-leave day but so far I have been very lucky.

Now let me tell you about that Karate class I took my kid to once. Or maybe I should stop here. Sometimes I worry not enough people hate me.