I hear voices. Perhaps you hear them too. You know, the voices that say “you’re not doing enough, you haven’t accomplished enough, you must do more!” More, more, more, it screams at me at night, waking me up from my confusing dreams. More, it nudges hurriedly in the mornings, starting fires of anxiety. More, it yells at me from my inbox. More, it calls to me from the universe of social media. Consume, produce, achieve. Consume, produce, achieve.
Today, a quieter voice said to me “what if you focused more on the quality of life?” What if you stepped far enough outside of din of the dictatorship of more and tuned into to that quieter voice?
This quarantine, or “coronatide”, as one of my pastors has taken to calling this time, I’ve had time and space to attend to the qualities of my life. To pay closer attention to the subtle light dancing on my floor, or the time I spend with my cat. I’ve sorted through belongings, and let go of the lesser-quality items. I have sought out less quantity in relationships, and deeper, quieter quality.
The MORE MORE MORE monster may always be there, the death-spiral of consumerism and capitalism. In many ways, this monster has chewed us up and spat us out. We are sitting, surveying the destruction that this pace has left us with. In some ways, we’re still running on the invisible hamster wheel of productivity and answering only to the loud voice that asks “have you done enough?”
And, as I listen quietly and faithfully, I hear new voices. I hear the voice that asks if the quality of the time I have spent with myself this day has nudged me toward gratitude, toward gentleness, toward generosity. I hear the inquiry about what I’ve learned, not what I have accomplished. If I listen quietly enough, I hear whispers of nourishment, and healing.
Those of us who have had the privilege of staying safely at homes, who haven’t been on battlefields of essential work, service, and medical attention, we have some time to attend to these questions.
Maybe it’s the quality of your family time, or the quality of your eye contact when your partner is speaking. Maybe it’s the quality of your food, the steps you take on a long walk, or the time you spend really attending to your pet’s needs. The quality of attention you give to yourself, your needs, and your thought patterns.
Maybe you’ve sorted through your physical objects and identified what doesn’t offer life to you. In this strange coronatide you may have discovered a strange new way of being in the world. You may have discovered more of yourself.