Finding joy in the moments

I recently wrote that we all need the right mindset to walk the fault line between courage and fear. That mindset needs to become our advantage. If you missed it, you can read it here. The point was that when we learn how to walk that line in our day to day, grace emerges – in silver linings of joy, humour, human connection and care. You need to look for the silver linings, and I have been taking my own advice to accelerate that – cutting myself and others some slack, taking basic care of myself and practicing positive denial (the hardest one, but we can all do it).

I am not going to lie though, the fault line seems to be getting finer. I am doing well, my family is healthy, and I am energised by having an impact with our clients right now. But sometimes I am too good with my positive denial (years of training), so I am slow with my feelings. And I have to admit that as this crisis becomes increasingly real, it has hurt at times - a low grade ache in my heart, maybe my soul.

I had to remember what that ache is – and why at times it has hurt out of nowhere, brought tears to my eyes and made me want to do to something, anything to make this better. Because that feeling is exactly how I felt when Kate, my perfect, newborn daughter, was diagnosed with cystic fibrosis (CF) when she was five weeks old (and it has honestly taken me this long to realise it was this feeling that prompted me to write the first article :)).

When I look back on that time, all I want to do is give that girl a hug. Me, that woman who already had a full-fledged career and husband and life, that woman figuring out what her life would mean now, how it would change (she entirely determined that it wouldn’t) and her steeling herself for the battle of her life – I want to give her a hug. And because I know you are all feeling the same in some way now, I want to give you all a hug too (big call, as I am normally no hugger). But this is the only way I can.

Truth is that I would do more than hug that girl. I would let her know that she is going to be changed immeasurably – but only for the better. I would tell her that it will feel tough and uncertain but she will grow, and she will learn to be open and share, and that by finding the courage to do that, she and that darling baby of hers are going to help people – and by helping and advocating for others, they will find the energy to always fight harder.

And I would tell her to get ready, because that baby of hers is going to grow into something that is so much more than she is – that baby Kate will become everything she wishes she was and more. And that she will watch her with something more than pride – it will be awe and wonder and sometimes fear - and despite any job title she has, her real job will be simply to keep up with Kate…and it won’t be a battle at all. Lastly, I would tell her that even though the cost of hoping and loving but getting it wrong is unthinkable, to never be afraid to hope. She will learn to keep hope close – and how to let grace emerge even when it seems impossible.

I want you all to keep your hope too. I know the fault line is blurred for many right now, and it has become truly hard. So my advice this time is less macro, less mindset. This advice is about moments. The hard moments and how to extract some joy even in those.

Here are my tips for keeping hope and finding joy in the difficult moments:

- Let normal be: on the day Kate was diagnosed, my husband and I went to her specialist and learned all about CF. We got all the prescriptions. And when we went to leave, our doctor turned to us and said ‘now go on and enjoy your baby.’

We still had to tell our families. We had to learn how to give newborn Kate meds at her next feed. But we left the doctor’s office, rented a movie and went home and watched it. It was so normal, and the only thing we knew how to do in that moment – a silver lining on what was otherwise an ill-fated day. Because we let normal be, my memory of it is positive in our togetherness.

Take a moment and let your normal be – whatever that is. One foot in front of the other and focus on what you can do today.

- Better is an option: when Kate was six, she was hospitalised twice within six months. Both times for a serious lung infection and the second time also for sinus surgery. I began to question if this was my new normal and if it would just get worse.

But a month later two doctors called on the same day, both with good news: Kate’s lung infection was cleared and her sinuses were repaired. I said to the second doctor, ‘wow, I didn’t think better was even an option.’ I had to learn that it is. 

Some curves are flattening. Better is an option – focus and action can make it a possibility.

- The best in the worst: it seems wrong to say, but some of my best times with Kate have been when she was in hospital. We are captive, our guards are down, and we have plenty of time together. It is exhausting, yet we always manage to have fun.

The pictures in the heading are Kate on the final day of her last hospital stay. Of all things, Kate hates the last day – because they pull out her central line. The line only hurts going in, but she hates it coming out. We had to wait hours on that day, and we were so ready to go home. But in those hours, we laughed, ate terrible food and had a scavenger hunt through the hospital. We had the best day...and I am so glad I captured it in pictures.

When it is good, let it be good – because it isn’t always. But you can find the best (or at least good) hiding in the worst.

- Reaching higher ground: some of the lessons we are learning right now are obvious (how to connect and care more, how to use digital collaboration tools well etc), others we can’t yet see. But I promise you that you are growing, you are learning and your capacity for challenge is expanding. And it is going to serve you well. You just can’t see it yet.

Kate’s treatments have grown over time – add diabetes on top of her normal treatments, nose flushes on daily physiotherapy and a lucky blood clot at one point that led me to say ‘I don’t see how we can do this.’

I never say that anymore because I know our capacity is always growing, our ‘new’ quickly becomes ‘normal’ and we expand to meet each challenge – we reach higher ground.

You are reaching higher ground now too. So don’t look too far ahead – by the time you get there you will be ready for it. Learning this has helped me immensely – with Kate and in my career.

I hope you can find some joy in all kinds of moments right now. I am confident we are going to turn this challenge into advantage – we are just starting the jouney to getting there.