Amy Lu's View

As my last post detailed, I recently did a cover of the 1985’s Tears for Fear classic “Head Over Heels.”

Revisiting this song has inspired me to revisit the experience of being “Head Over Heels” — not just in romantic love (which when I was 15 in 1985 pretty much meant dramatically wallowing in unrequited love) but head over heels by the delights and mysteries of life — both big and small.  

“Head Over Heels” is one of those phrases that is so common that it can lose meaning. But think about it…actually, it should probably be “heels over head”* because it’s trying to convey that sense of being completely discombobulated and disoriented by an overpowering emotion or experience. And it’s usually completely unexpected — the sensation invades your ordinary life. 

This experience of being completely untethered and in free fall can be pretty scary — and exhilarating. (The music of the song is definitely ambivalent–hence those dastardly A9 chords — to evoke a little dread). So while it makes sense that we might think being head over heels is (or should be) only for young people or those newly in love, I want to try and open myself up to it. 

Things that make me head over heels:

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• Playing music live again — in 3D — with others, and in front of others — especially getting to drum AND sing at the same time!
• Our church’s weekly storytime via Zoom — getting to know the kids and their families better, and (re)discovering the wonder and wisdom and diversity of children’s picture books 
• Seeing friends in 3D and yes, even hugs in the right circumstances
• Sitting at a bar (although that may not happen again for a while)
• Wildflowers — learning to notice them, especially when they appear in not-so-scenic places
• Our church’s coffeehouse via Zoom — performing and being part of the online audience
• The urban turkeys that terrorize our neighborhood — definitely an example of the jarring, unpleasant, okay, often downright scary Head Over Heels experience that can literally stop me in my tracks when I’m running and I encounter one or several. No, they’ve never been aggressive toward me but I don’t want to give them the opportunity. And seriously, should they be freely roaming in NE Minneapolis?
• And speaking of unexpected birds in the city…the sound of our neighbor chickens. The chickens aren’t irritating or obnoxious (apparently they are rooster-free), and often provide just a pleasant background babble but make me think “Where the hell am I?”
• Realizing it’s dark by 8:30 at night (damn)
• An amazing audiobook that transports me to another world (currently, “The Archive of the Forgotten”) 
• Randomly hearing the perfect, profound, deep, life-altering song on the radio (thank you, the Current!) in this case, “You’ll be bright” by Cloud Cult…maybe a coffeehouse song I could whip up for coffeehouse sometime. (Not exactly a new song — it was released in 2010 — but at least from this century!)
• Realizing there is something that I still don’t know or understand about Chad after almost 32 years (or maybe I’ve had enough time to learn and forget) and to grasp that another person will always be a mystery.
• Appreciating that there is so much I DO know and understand about Chad and that he knows about me (even if it’s our neuroses) and that we could understand even more if we looked at each other without our preconceived notions.
• The unrelenting cuteness of StanLee B. — and how does he frequently look so sad/disappointed/judgmental and letdown?

*according to dictionary.com it WAS “heels over head”

Yesterday I started cleaning out my office–my worksite office from the Before Times. 

I feel overwhelmed. 

I love working at home and feel very fortunate to be able to do so, but the process of getting from “Before” to “After” is daunting. I just don’t feel like I can deal with more stuff in my life. And I mean material, tangible, physical stuff. 

Chad and I have put a lot of time and effort this year into decluttering, and now here I am, with more clutter from work. 

To once again quote my beloved character Claire that I got to play in many versions of the play “Broken Hill”:

“It’s ocean sediment, burying me, I gotta shovel it out, and suddenly all the space I cleared is filled with more stuff than ever.”

–Claire from the play “Broken Hill” by Jim Lundy

Okay, I may be in an overly dramatic mood. I actually didn’t even have that much stuff in my office because I wasn’t there that long before Covid hit and we started working from home. I made a big purge of my work possessions around two and a half years ago when I did the cube to office move and just didn’t have time to accumulate more stuff. (And before that I made a had a big cube excavation chronicled here: Do Fear The Platypus).

I didn’t even find any weird or gross food stashes–although I did throw out a couple of granola bars and individually wrapped pieces of chocolate which I now kind of regret doing because Chad said we would have eventually consumed those. 

And yes, I did try to be ruthless in my recycling and purging. If I had things that I hadn’t looked at or used in a year and a half, I didn’t need it, right?

So what did I find and keep?

• Racing medals–no surprise, I knew that despite having brought several of them home when I got my new laptop, I still had many hanging up on my bulletin board. 
  • I was a little surprised by the “Sweating makes you look hot” sign that my awesome friend Stephanie made and held while cheering me on during my first marathon. I had forgotten about that and left it at my office to try and buy more time to come up with a plan for it.
• Mugs–I love mugs, and I love work-related mugs.
• An afghan my dad won in Nursing Home Bingo
• My Twenty Year Employee Recognition Certificate (this actually was delivered while I was gone) and several miscellaneous certificates for trainings and work awards
• Binders of training. Yes, many of these training materials I did recycle because they were obviously out-of-date, but it seems like I should at least skim the managerial and leadership topics.
  • And speaking of binders–I still could not part with my binder full of storytime fingerplays and songs, which I will probably never ever use again.

I didn’t finish cleaning out my office, but I didn’t expect to. I knew this would be a challenging  task (if not actually that time consuming) so planned for it to take at least two sessions. 

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It’s been weighing on my mind enough that I dreamed about cleaning out my office the other night, only in my dream my office morphed into my dorm room and I had lots of clothes to deal with.

Thankfully no clothes were hidden away in my office, but in addition to all the physical possessions and artifacts I’ve been focused on, there were some emotions, too. As I’ve said, this is a very welcome change for me, but it’s still a significant transition, and it was weird and a little melancholy to make it by myself in a mostly empty environment. Well, at least empty of people–there were lots of boxes and binders and more boxes. 

On the upside, feelings don’t need to be organized and don’t take up any physical space (unless I really lean in to eating mine) and I have a super cute and cuddly furry coworker to help me process them. (Just to avoid any ambiguity, I am referring to StanLee, not Chad). 

I’ve never given a commencement speech–until recently, when I “graduated” from an online leadership development course. I don’t have a recording of my speech (which is a shame because I was wearing a really cute dress) but here is the text of my short (about three minute) speech.

My Graduation Speech

“What shows up when you do?”

This is one of the last questions posed to us in our coursework, and for me it captures the most profound and useful learnings from the Leadership Academy. To answer this question, I have to take a step back and seriously consider if I am actually showing up-not just if I’m there, whether that’s online or in-person, but if I’m truly present. 

Am I focused and attentive, and listening to others with genuine curiosity? Or am I making assumptions about their intent and not really listening because I’m thinking about how I’m going to respond? Am I concentrating on the current situation or problem and utilizing my skills to make things better, or am I worrying needlessly about how things might go or how others might react?

Throughout this course we’ve been encouraged to develop positive relationships and demonstrate sincere appreciation for our employees and colleagues, and being fully present is a powerful way to show we value others and their contributions.

Being present will improve my skills as a communicator, and we’ve definitely explored the many facets of and benefits of positive communication. Yes, before this academy I knew that communication was important, but I’ve been encouraged to think more deeply about what communication is. Communication doesn’t just convey information-it connects people and builds and maintains relationships. Communication creates meaning, and helps people feel inspired.

Being present will also increase my courage-the courage to receive and give honest feedback, and to have crucial conversations.

Another provocative idea from this academy is to take measurement seriously as a way to grow as a leader. I’m a runner, so I love measuring things in that area of my life-how many miles I run a week, what’s my average pace per mile, what’s my heart rate, etc. etc. But I’ve never really considered how I could measure things that can’t be captured by my Garmin sports watch. Now I’ve learned that what we measure, we pay attention to and value. Can I commit to giving each one of my direct reports a sincere and specific compliment each week? How would I grow if I solicited and acted upon 15 minutes of feedback from direct reports and colleagues every month?

This academy has left me with more questions than commitments, but I think that’s positive–questions lead to possibilities. This academy has given me new questions to ask and new tools to answer them so I can be a more effective leader. This academy has also given me a highly supportive and inspiring cohort to take this journey with, so I’d like to end with a shout-out to my discussion breakout group and thank them for all the insights and encouragement.

Cue “Pomp and Circumstance” (or wait, is that the exit or the entrance music for a graduation? Well, you get the idea…)

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I’ve been debating whether or not I should share my speech because I’m a little embarassed by how earnest it is. Afterall, I’m Generation X, the epitome of snark. Didn’t I roll my eyes as I read and viewed much of the course material?

Well, okay, I did, but that was mostly defensiveness and reflexiveness and posturing (if only for myself). Habit. Yes, I am sincerely snarky, but I am also frequently sincerely earnest at the same time, and after 51 years of time on this planet, I should probably start owning that.

Perhaps more importantly, I hesitated to share this because I feel hypocritical extolling the value of being present. I am so often NOT present (including while working through this course material). But I didn’t say that I’ve mastered the art of being present, just that I recognize its importance. Actually, it makes a great deal of sense that the learnings about being present would really stand out to me (and they were also some of the last ones in the course so easiest for me to remember).

So, I’m sharing my speech–I’m very thankful that I was able to take this course and aspire to put at least some of the takeaways I shared in my speech into action. And, I haven’t blogged in quite a while and didn’t want to let some content that I could repurpose go to waste.

Plus, this gives me a reason (like I need one?) to post selfies that show off my cute dress.

I’ve never been a bath person.

I know that taking a bath is supposed to be the epitome of relaxation, and I know for many people it is. But just the thought of taking a bath stresses me out. Maybe it’s because I’ve never had an appropriately comfortable bathtub or bathroom, or because I’m too repressed to enjoy unstructured nudity, or because I’m too uptight to embrace the prospect of just hanging out, but the idea of just lounging around naked doesn’t appeal to me. 

But I may have discovered a type of bathing I can get into: “forest bathing.” (Don’t worry, this does NOT involve being naked in a forest–I can’t even imagine the potential for a bug related disaster). 

The concept is Japanese and basically means spending intentional time in nature. Yes, that’s a pretty simplistic explanation, and my version of forest bathing is quite minimal–I’m mostly just wandering around some area parks.

My outings aren’t strenuous (not the point of forest bathing anyway) and I’m definitely not roughing it–there’s no camping, backpacking, or even hiking involved (unless the line between “hike” and “walk” is very malleable). I do usually end up strolling between 4 and 6 miles.

But my park meandering is a new thing for me, and although I didn’t start the practice with the idea that I was forest bathing, I like applying that lens to it. I like reflecting on how I’ve made a change to my life since COVID lockdown that I think has some merit. 

Not surprisingly, my park practice was inspired by lockdown, when it occurred to me that going to parks would be something to do that was relatively safe and somewhat novel. I also realized that after 20 plus years of living in Minneapolis, it was time to take advantage of some of the many opportunities to experience the great (and medium and small) outdoors in my area. 

In the last year, I’ve been to two State Parks, and several county, regional, and city parks…and once I ended up on a “trail” that was just a path through a neighborhood (yeah, that was a bit of a letdown). My experiences have been beautiful, disappointing, inspiring, confusing, hot, calming, surprising.

There have been lots of bugs. And selfies. And nature photos. And more bugs. 

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I am not very skilled at really being in the moment and appreciating my natural surroundings (which is actually a key aspiration for forest bathing). During my meanderings I’m usually listening to a podcast or an audiobook. I do TRY and listen to the birds and the water and wind too, but I love “reading” while walking and taking in the sights and smells and sensations while getting swept up in a story or a conversation. 

The main thing is that I have been getting outside to new places in a new way. Which means I can use (misuse?) another trendy term here: microadventure. An adventure doesn’t always have to be a big deal. It just needs to be something a little different and unexpected, something that gives you the opportunity to be open to possibilities and really realizing you’re not totally in control of how things are going to go.

My park explorations feel slightly adventurous because I’m never quite sure what will happen: What type of trail or path will I end up on? What flowers or trees or animal life might I see? Will I remember how to find where I’ve parked the car? Will I be able to take a least one moderately cute selfie? Will I be able to find a port-a-potty when I need one? 

I’m not the most attentive nature worshipper, but I have learned to be more observant and appreciative, and better able to see beauty and value when it doesn’t exactly fit my standard definition. Okay, universe, I don’t always have to have a sunny, 72 degree day and a path lined with wildflowers along and a gurgling brook (actually I have never experienced this).

Now that I feel like I safely can go more places and do more things (hallelujah), I still hope to keep forest bathing. Just don’t expect me to learn to appreciate mosquitoes any time soon.

I couldn’t stop watching the elderly lady who was dancing so vigorously that her white pants seemed in danger of falling down. 

The song ended, and her pants did NOT fall down. And it looked like she had a great time dancing (she was definitely very good at it, this lady had moves) and I had a great time watching. 

In fact, I was so moved by seeing a gathering of people together, dancing, taking joy in music and movement and community at the Salsa del Soul concert at Silverwood OnStage in St. Anthony (a nearby Minneapolis suburb), that I almost cried. 

This would have been a beautiful experience any year, but after the isolation and restrictions of COVID (which yes, in many ways, I also enjoyed, #Contradictions) it was precious. 

Not only did I take joy in watching the Lady in the White Pants, I loved watching all the dancers–the young, the old, the sexy, the awkward, the skilled, the goofy (not mutually exclusive categories). 

Yes, I know various signs and mugs and tsotchkes exhort us to “Dance like nobody’s watching,” but sometimes someone IS watching (me) and I’m very appreciative for those who put their freedom and exuberance on display. 

May I sometimes laugh at the dancers? Yes, but not to be intentionally mean or critical–but to appreciate the silliness and playfulness of the moment.

Do I wish that I wasn’t just a bystander, and that I had the courage to join in, even though I would most certainly look like a dork dancing by myself (or with anyone, really)? Yes, of course, but there is also a unique pleasure in being in the audience–of having the perspective of the perimeter. 

And of course, the biggest pleasure is just being a part of the whole, in whatever way.

I hope to make more time in my life for dancing–whether publicly (doubtful), or privately (possible–shouldn’t this be one of the advantages of working from home, impromptu kitchen dance breaks?) I was recently very inspired by a reading Chad chose for a church service:

“A party of one is sometimes the best time. Dance by yourself, anywhere there is room in your house. There is something, even a bit magic, to music, to movement and a touch of laughter. Go ahead: dance.”

From “Lean Forward Into Your Life” by Mary Anne Radmacher

These words are like a time machine transporting me all the way back to the summer of 1988, when I rocked out by myself to the song “Sweet Child of Mine” at my sister’s apartment. For some reason, I had her place entirely to myself and when that song came on the radio, I felt free and able to shake loose any sense of self-consciousness. It wasn’t even really one of my favorite songs, but that didn’t matter. Thirty-three years later and I still remember that feeling of release. 

So, Dance Like Nobody’s Watching…or…Dance Like Everybody’s Watching….or Dance Like Only Someone Special’s Watching…or…Dance Like Your Dog’s Watching…or Watch Other People Dance…or…Watch Your Dog Dance…

Just be part of the dance. (Don’t necessarily get a sign for all of these ideas, though–#ProgressivesDrRick).

Once upon a time there was a small stuffed bear named Munson.

Well, he didn’t start out with that name–Munson got his name when he was adopted by the Middle-Aged Lady* one warm August day in 2016 from the MPR booth at the Minnesota State Fair. 

Munson wore a hoodie with the logo of the radio station “The Current” on it. The Middle-Aged Lady was a big fan of the Current and thought Munson was cute and squishy and would be just the right size to cuddle with. 

Munson had a great day at the Fair with the Middle Aged Lady and her Friend Wanda. They had a surplus amount of adult beverage and we’re very giggly and almost ran into a locally famous musician and Current radio personality John Munson. As they were in a giggly and silly mood they thought it would be funny to name Munson the bear after Munson the Musician and that is how Munson got his name.

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Munson saw many interesting sights at the Fair–beer, cheese curds, live music, crowds of people, beer–but when he went home with the Middle Aged Lady he happily settled into a calm life. Munson spent most of his days peacefully in the Middle Aged Lady’s bedroom. 

Some people think that only children or puppies can love and need stuffed animals, but these people are confused and/or not fully informed. People of all ages, including Middle Aged Ladies, can love stuffed animals.

Munson was happy and content with the Middle Aged Lady, and he had a VERY IMPORTANT JOB. He had to cuddle with the Middle Aged Lady every night so she could sleep. No, she wasn’t afraid of monsters (although sometimes in the middle of the night the Middle Aged Lady seemed afraid of spreadsheets and weight gain) but she didn’t know what to do with her spindly arms if she wasn’t hugging Munson. Without Munson, she would be extra flaily and restless while trying to sleep (which would also disturb the slumber of her beloved Middle Aged Man).

The Middle Aged Lady loved Munson, and she also loved a new puppy thing that she and her Middle Aged Man brought to live with them one day. They called him StanLee. This puppy creature was cute but very excited with lots and lots of energy, and he didn’t know quite how to love things in the right way (without causing bodily harm).

One time when the Middle Aged Lady and her Man weren’t paying attention, StanLee showed Munson how much he loved him by chewing his arm until it almost fell off. 

This didn’t hurt Munson but it did feel funny. The Middle Aged Lady continued to love Munson and sleep with him every night–sometimes even with StanLee, who could be an accomplished cuddler when he wasn’t chewing–but from then on she made sure to keep an eye out for StanLee’s overexuberant demonstrations of affection. 

Munson’s fur grew a little tattier and rattier each night as he got hugged and squeezed and he had that whole barely attached arm situation, but the Middled Aged Lady (and Man) thought he was adorable.

The Middle Aged Lady and Man were home almost all the time, especially in a time called “2020”. But then one day they went on an adventure and took a trip to visit family in the wilds of a mysterious and magical land called “Wisconsin”. 

The Middle Aged Lady decided to bring Munson along to help her sleep in a place that was not her home. She thought Munson would be especially helpful since her spindly arms would be extra flaily after hours of anxiously hoping that StanLee did not chew on any other puppies or plants or people (particularly small ones) in Wisconsin. 

Munson enjoyed snuggling in a different bed in a different house. It was new and unusual! But, when the Middle Aged Lady went home with the Middle Aged Man and StanLee, she left Munson buried in the bed and forgot to bring him home!

Munson is patient and can hang out at the Ancestral Home of the Middle Aged Man while he waits to see how his story unfolds. He knows through the mystical psychic connection that stuffed animals share with their owners that the Middle Aged Lady, and especially the Middle Aged Man, felt very sad and guilty about abandoning him. They hope they are reunited with him when they return to visit the magical land of Wisconsin. 

As the Middle Aged Lady’s spindly arms at night continue to resemble those of a dancing Muppet, she has enlisted the service of a recently discovered stuffed Curious George to hug. (This is not his story). 

Munson is not jealous of Curious George as his stuffed heart is just full of love (even for the Krakenesque Tazmanian Devil Beast known as StanLee) and knows the Middle Aged Lady (even as she becomes the Old Aged Lady) can wrap her spindly flailing arms around them all if given the chance. 

Until that day he will dream of hugs and cheese curds.

(*Yes, a perhaps unsuccessful riff on the “Man in the Yellow Hat” from Curious George. It’s not as good because it’s not as specific–the world is full of Middle Aged Ladies–but I’m not ready to commit to wearing just one color…)

Last month, on May 27 to be precise, Chad and I celebrated our twenty-sixth anniversary. 

I would like to make some clever reference to what anniversary this was in terms of traditional gifts, but I’ve learned that the twenty-sixth anniversary isn’t anything. There’s no special gift or title or theme assigned to it. That feels rather dismissive and deflating, especially since we missed having a big to-do on our “Silver” anniversary because of COVID. (Perhaps those in charge of anniversary etiquette thought they were doing folks a favor by not having a theme for the twenty-sixth, as they were probably imagining spouses still worn out after celebrating the big silver anniversary). 

I guess I should have known there was no traditional twenty-sixth anniversary theme/gift,  because the traditional gifts stop at 15 and then are only assigned in 5 years increments after that. The other anniversary designations I’ve seen must have been referring to the “modern” gifts. 

So, under the modern gift schematic, the Twenty-Sixth Anniversary is…the “Picture Anniversary.” Yeah, we didn’t really celebrate that, but we did go out to eat and we did sit down and have a meal inside a dining establishment. It was our first such experience since lockdown started in March of 2019, so that definitely felt special. And I did make Chad be part of some selfies so we do have some pictures from the evening. 

Although there is no traditional gift to guide my thinking or writing about our twenty-sixth anniversary, I’m definitely pondering what it’s been like to spend the last year in lockdown with each other. 

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It’s easy to joke about how amazed we are that we haven’t wanted to kill each other after spending so much time together this last year. But we are amazed (really, how easy is it to live with anyone under such circumstances) but more importantly, grateful. Grateful that we’ve had each other to help us get through the scary times, and grateful that we’ve been able to slow down and spend more time with each other, and grateful (and sometimes exasperated) that we still have so much to learn about each other, and how and who we are together. 

They stayed there for a long time, just feeling very brave together.”

from “Dragons and Giants,” Frog and Toad Together

That line is a pretty good summary of our twenty-sixth year of marriage: We stayed “there” (home) for a long time (over a year) feeling brave, or at least trying to act like we felt brave, together. 

Because just like Frog and Toad in the story Dragons and Giants, we actually didn’t feel very brave. Frog and Toad question their bravery after reading fairy tales where the heroes courageously face Dragons and Giants. (YES! I AM working in a Frog and Toad story, so another step of the blog challenge achieved!) So Frog and Toad go out in the world and encounter all kinds of dangers like birds and snakes and avalanches, scream “We are not afraid” and run home.

We were scared, or at least very anxious, not just about COVID and civil unrest and the presidential election, but all of those things on top of normal life. We are extremely blessed and the world is amazing, but also scary. So we’re still often a little scared/anxious, (and so fortunate that because we’re white and middle class we actually have little to fear compared to so many) but we get to pretend we’re brave together. 

It’s not simply that we’re in denial–we’re making a choice, or rather, a series of small choices, to be more optimistic and hopeful and confident and calm than we are inclined to be. 

So bring it on, dragons and giants and pre-pandemic pants that are now too tight…we’re ready for you!

Thanks to the badge that popped up on my phone today courtesy of my Garmin watch, I know that today is Global Running Day. 

Surprisingly, I did not know about this holiday through social media. Just like back in 2018 when I also blogged about it, I was oblivious: https://amyluedtke.wordpress.com/2018/06/07/happy-global-running-day/. 

I did go running this morning, but it was a short run and, more surprisingly, it was one of the few runs that I did NOT document/celebrate with a selfie. 

I have blogged so much about running that I am a bit stymied about adding anything to my body of running blogging. Do I have anything left to say?

Probably not, but I do still think it’s worth taking some time to reflect on running today. Out of all the things I’ve felt and experienced and written about running, what feels really relevant to me now, today?

Gratitude.

I’m so grateful that my health and my schedule continue to allow me to run. I’m grateful that I don’t have to worry about my safety when I run because of my race or where I live (although I still have to worry about falling and geese/turkeys). I’m grateful for how my body can move even when I don’t treat it as well as I could and it doesn’t look quite like I want it to. I’m grateful for the beautiful weather when I run and (in theory) the crappy weather that makes me appreciate the beautiful weather more. I’m grateful for audiobooks and podcasts to listen to when I’m running. I’m grateful for having more opportunities to wear all my race shirts and running attire afforded by lockdown (I did spend extra time deciding what to wear for Global Running Day, deciding on my Grandma’s Marathon Finisher Shirt). I’m grateful that I can occasionally indulge in the body and mind depletion that comes after a long run (amplified by some celebratory festive beverages which may relate to the not treating my body as well as I could #ProcessNotPerfection). 

I’m grateful for the “global” aspect of running–of realizing in some small way that I am part of a larger community that even goes beyond my social media connections. Through running I have a shared experience with extremely diverse people across the world. 

People often ask me if I’m in training for anything. Right now, I’m kind of, sort of in training for the virtual, incremental Grandma’s Marathon. Yeah, that’s a lot of descriptors and qualifiers. I am signed up to run the Grandma’s Marathon, BUT I have a two week period (June 19 through July 5) to complete the 26.2 miles and I can run them from anywhere (so I will not be going to Duluth). So this is not anywhere near as demanding as running an actual marathon. I do intend to make it somewhat challenging by running the 26.2 miles over three days, with one of those days being a Half Marathon. 

I have not been very focused or strategic about my training (in other words, my training has been half-assed), so while I’m pretty confident I can run 26.2 miles in three days, I don’t know how speedy I’ll be. I’m sure I’ll be disappointed in my performance in some way, but it will also be a good lesson in adaptability and embracing where I’m at. 

That’s definitely an insight to be grateful for.

It was the smallest of things, it was the biggest of things*: I went to a neighborhood grocery store last week for the first time since COVID quarantining. 

It felt normal and extraordinary. 

I’ve made no secret about being ambivalent and anxiety-ridden about returning to a Post-COVID life. Most of my angst revolves around my potential schedule commitments. (I’ve been greatly comforted by reading and hearing more and more people express such concerns). 

Setting these time and energy constraints aside, what do I want my new normal to look like? What daily or common activities or environments do I want to experience again?

I’ve purposely avoided spending too much time on this question–it’s just felt overwhelming. But on the fateful day in question I was on my way home from my new routine of a “park adventure” (this time Theodore Wirth Park) and I wanted to get eggs so I decided to stop at a grocery store and shop in person.

This was my first time inside a grocery store since March of 2020. The only store that I have regularly been in since the pandemic is a liquor store–I just couldn’t make alcohol delivery work well for us, I figured I could get in and out quickly and the liquor store was never crowded, and well, #Priorities.

Being in this grocery store felt weird, but good. It felt like I hadn’t been in there in forever, and also like only a week had passed. Now that I’m fully vaccinated, it’s nice to know that I can now just comfortably pop into a commercial establishment and buy something I want without worrying about catching COVID. (I may have to worry about awkward or irritating social interactions with strangers, but again, that’s normal). 

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Since the pandemic, I’ve been buying our groceries almost exclusively online and having them delivered or picking them up. I’ve been doing almost all our shopping online (except for the already disclosed booze runs). This was mostly motivated at first by wanting to avoid any COVID exposure, but then I just grew to like it. Once I figured out the idiosyncrasies of using Instacart and Imperfect Foods, I loved–and continued to love–the convenience of it. 

Even before the pandemic, I wasn’t a big in-person shopper (at least not since my mother departed from this mortal coil). Yes, I know there are many ethical problems with using Amazon, (and I’ve been trying to cut back, really!) but there are few things in my life that I need to see in-person before I buy. We even got most of our groceries from Simon/Coburn Delivers when they were still operating in the Twin Cities. 

Shopping at a store just didn’t fit in my schedule. When people would say to me “Oh you can just go to so-and-so and pick up that” I would usually cross whatever that was off the list of things I needed in my life. 

There is a huge exception to this: Target. In the Before Times, I spent a lot of time at Target. A LOT. I got most of my essential purchases at Target–groceries, clothes…okay, groceries and clothes. But I browsed at Target. I dreamed at Target, and had aspirations of a better me at Target. I worshipped at the altar of consumerism at Target. Target brands are the only brands I reliably know (or knew). 

I can definitely say I have only been to Target once since March of 2020. In some ways this is astounding to me. Several years ago I participated in a boycott of Target because of their financial support of Tom Emmer and it felt like such a sacrifice. 

As life has started to return to normal, I have intentionally refrained from going to Target. I’m just not ready. I think it’s going to be a “Big Deal” and I want to be emotionally prepared. I want to properly observe the event. I want to make sure I have time to blog about it. 

I want to be thoughtful in how I reintegrate Target into my life. Or, more accurately, Target has become a symbol for how I want to thoughtfully resume post-Covid life. I keep thinking about a time when my friend Pat saw me at Target after church and couldn’t get my attention to say “Hi” because I was in such a daze. Now, that wasn’t just the fault of Target, but I don’t want to just immediately return to that overstressed, overcommitted, overcapitalized self. 

Yeah, I’m still a highly materialistic consumer when I show online at home, but it does feel a little more relaxed. At a minimum, I can aspire to be stressed and frazzled from the comfort of my home (at least I’ll gain travel time).

(*Yes, this is a play on the famous line from a “A Tale of Two Cities” as I just heard the story on “Wait, Wait Don’t Tell Me” of Michael Steele saying his favorite book was “War and Peace” and then quoting “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”)