Adult friendships are hard. Yet in this time of the pandemic, they are more important than ever. Everyone I know is experiencing some form of loneliness, anxiety, unease.
You’d have to be living in a cave not to feel the uncertainty and sadness accompanying this period when there are more than 160,000 dead from the disease. We are in and out of quarantine, our daily routines are upended, there is economic hardship all around and we’re watching our children suffer from disturbed schooling and socialization. Even Michelle Obama, who I admire greatly for her humor, strength and determination, admitted this week that she’s suffering from low-level depression.
I’ve got a theory born of some research, that in times of physical or emotional stress, returning to an area of competence can be helpful, even curative.
That’s why, when my husband died while we were fairly young, I disregarded self-help books and friends who advised against making any major life changes. I knew that travel made me feel competent and capable. (I’m excellent at adventure, bad at staying still.)
Anyone who is a parent knows we don’t get to order up the type of child we get.
I’ve got five, counting my husband’s son. Each one, in his or her own way, regularly shocks me. "Who is this person?" I frequently ask myself in amazement.
However, when you are gifted a child with disabilities, the questions tend to go deeper: Is nature or nurture at play?
