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by Allison Grisham
One of my husband’s favorite movies is the Bill Murray classic Groundhog Day. In it, Bill Murray plays the self-absorbed character Phil. Every day Phil wakes up on February 2nd and has to live out the same day again. Towards the beginning of the movie, he is lying, cheating, fighting, committing suicide, and even killing the groundhog, just to get the day over with. Soon we see Phil begin to evolve: he develops new friendships, learns to play the piano, masters the art of ice sculpting, discovers French poetry, and performs acts of kindness. During each of the instances, Phil is present and in the moment. When he finally has a “perfect” day, Phil doesn’t want that day to end. He is so present, so in the moment, and content that he wants each moment to last thus ending the cycle of repeated Groundhog Days.
At the moment, every day since March feels a bit like Groundhog Day for me. Wake up; kids are here; feed and water dogs and kids; go to work at home; kids are still here and they need things; a work lunch full of chatter about Pokemon and dragons, not quiet reading; everyone stays in pajamas for half the day; going hiking or to the beach for family time feels forced because each parent longs for solitude; family dinner mirrors lunch; the emotions I feel when the kids fall asleep each night mimic the blessed relief, which I felt when my youngest’s colic finally passed out. Then I sleep, only to get up and do it all again, exactly as I did yesterday and last week and last month and in the spring.
I feel like Phil in Groundhog Day, only I don’t have seem to have the motivation to better myself as he did. I am also struggling with celebrating the present as Phil does towards the end of the movie.
Michelle Obama recently shared on her new podcast that she is struggling with “some form of low-grade depression” and said that “Spiritually… these are not fulfilling times.”
When I heard this, all I could think was: yes. This might be me as well. This might be you also. Everyday is the same in an unfulfilling way. I miss connecting with people, so do my children and husband. I bet you do, too. We worry about the health of our older relatives. We mourn for friends and relatives who have died. We feel disconnected. We worry about online school and about in-person school for our children. We have no childcare. We are troubled by the racial injustice and strife. We are concerned for the upcoming elections. We worry for friends and neighbors who struggle with rent, mortgage, and businesses. These are all individual stressors and collectively they compound upon us leaving us discombobulated, especially when we know that tomorrow will be the same as today and yesterday.
When we find ourselves living with stress or low-level depression (and let’s face it, this is recent and familiar territory to us: the Thomas Fire, the mudslide, and every rainstorm and fire since), we often feel paralyzed from making a decision. At this moment, for parents, especially working parents, there are no “perfect” decisions. All the decisions we make for our children (including the Children, Youth, and Family Ministries Program at All Saints) are imperfect decisions because all decisions are impacted by coronavirus social distancing. I don’t want to make “imperfect” decisions for my children or myself, and I know that you don’t either. But as long as we are stuck in COVID Groundhog Day, every decision we make is imperfect. But by making decisions, we start to break that depressive loop, and then we can move from low-level depression to functionally-depressed and finally to acceptance and action.
We can draw on our faith traditions to show us how to move through difficult times. The Hebrew people survived years of slavery in Egypt, wandered in the desert, struggled under unjust rulers, and waited for David and the Messiah. During this time, they prayed many prayers of lament, anger, anguish, and grief. Yet God is constant. God is faithful. The psalms are full of these. In Psalm 46, verses 5 and 6, the central concern of the psalmist is his anxiety and worry:
Why are you so full of heaviness, O my soul, *
and why are you so disquieted within me?
Put your trust in God, *
for I will yet give thanks to the Holy One,
who is the help of my countenance, and my God.
We don’t know what has the psalmist worried. Perhaps his mother is ill, or his crops have failed. But instead of fretting and remaining in a state of perpetual, paralyzing worry, he makes a decision to trust in God. That first step changes his perspective and allows him to be in the moment. Once he is in the moment and present, the psalmist finds gratitude. The psalmist has shown us a way to live in 2020. Finding moments for gratitude and being intentional about thanking God for all of the blessings and trials in our lives will help us to remain centered and calm, ready to face each day and/or crisis as it comes.
