I’m tired of social distancing.
Tired of wearing gloves and masks in public.
Tired of not being able to browse stores I like, send my kids to school, attend church, and workout at my gym.
I’m tired of all of it.
And I know I’m not alone. We’re all JUST SO TIRED.
When I volunteered in hospice, one of the continuing education classes we were required to attend was on something called Compassion Fatigue.
“A condition characterized by emotional and physical exhaustion leading to a diminished ability to empathize or feel compassion for others, often described as the negative cost of caring. ”
“I’m tired of doing all the things I’m supposed to do,” I complained to my husband. “It takes so much energy, and even though I’m getting more rest than ever before, I rarely feel rejuvenated.”
It’s not exactly compassion fatigue because I do still feel compassion for others, and I care about a lot of new things in ways I never have before.
“Oh no!” I wailed. “I have Compliance Fatigue!”
I thought I made up the phrase, but there’s an actual definition for it in the Urban Dictionary:
“A state of chronic fatigue induced by having to constantly maintain compliance with the ever-increasing variety of rules, regulations, and processes created by middle management bureaucrats in both public and private organizations.”
I laughed out loud when I read that, even though the definition was written for an audience focused on corporate governance and business ethics.
All the rules, regulations, and processes are taking their toll on us. (And a lot of us aren’t even working right now!)
On my morning walk, I was thinking about this. The leaves have just sprouted and you can see the roots of the big trees pushing up through the ground. Which reminded me of a story I heard years ago about the giant redwoods in California. These massive trees don’t have a deep root system. Rather, their root system interlocks with the root system of other sequoias and in so doing, the trees literally hold one another up. They can withstand gale force winds, floods, earthquakes, and fire. They could not survive without each other.
The largest of these is the General Sherman, ironic I know, because that guy was known for the things he burned, not the things he planted. But he was also the one who coined the phrase “War is hell.” And everyday I hear people talking about Covid-19 like it’s World War III, with President Donald Trump even describing himself as a “war-time President.”
And so as I sit here tonight contemplating these last few weeks, I’ve realized more than ever than trying to do anything by myself is impossible. It’s impossible to keep practicing social distancing when you feel like you’re alone.
(I know. I know. The signs are everywhere: “We’re all in this together!”)
But even if everyone else is doing it, the very definition of social distancing means we’re going to feel like we’re alone.
This past Saturday, I celebrated my birthday, and three friends came over and surprised me with lunch. We sat in my backyard next to our outdoor fireplace—six feet apart—and just talked. And it was so good for my soul. We didn’t hug or crowd around each other for photos like we usually do, but we had the best time.
And then today, I drove around my neighborhood and put surprises in a few mailboxes. And the response was overwhelming. People just want to know that someone is thinking about them, that they haven’t been forgotten.
And I guess that’s how we’re going to hold people up during this time.
We can do the big tree thing and quietly spread our roots to nourish the people we love.
The General Sherman is 275 ft tall, 25 feet in diameter, and approximately 2,500 years old, and every year it adds enough wood to make another 60 foot tall tree!
But his tree, the General Sherman, is holding up the other trees in the forest. And that’s what I want to do, too. I will continue to respect the recommendations of the CDC, but in order to keep from feeling all this compliance fatigue, I’m going to have to spend time getting out of my own head.
This is the recipe: Do something kind for someone else.
Like my friend, Kristi, who texted me a video hug.
And my friend, Amy, who left a treat on my front porch right before Easter.
And my friend, Kaitlyn, who sent me some sweet essential oil spray called “Peace.”
And my friend, Ginny, who brought over fresh-cut flowers from her backyard.
And my friend, Jennifer, who drove by in her golf cart for a surprise “hello.”
And my friend, Rebecca, who delivered brownies hot out of the oven.
And so many other things not written here. I hold all of them in my heart.
There’s so many little things we can do that make a big difference in helping all of us feel healthy and strong.
General Sherman didn’t have anything to say about compassion or compliance, but back in his day he did talk a lot about courage.
“A perfect sensibility of the measure of danger, and a mental willingness to endure it.”
Press on, my friends. Press on.
And love your neighbor.
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