The First Step: Acknowledge the Mess

And then cherish the small wins

By Mary Jo Brown

Isaid “yes” quickly to writing about resilience, but the truth is I feel I lack it entirely.

I looked up the definition of resilience, and it uses phrases like “letting go” and “flexibility,” which truly seem to defy my approach to not only life, but in particular my response to our current health and economic crisis.

The truth is I feel like a mess.

Whether sobbing in the parking lot of a local bank the day before the first round of PPP funding ran out, having a full-on panic attack at the recycling center and refusing to get out of my loaded-with-trash car because no one was wearing masks, or yelling irrationally at a Market Basket shopper who was fingering too many boxes and walking the wrong way down the cereal aisle, I feel like a discombobulated and anxious mess.

The good news for me is that I can compartmentalize, and I like to plan. I can tuck bad thoughts away for a while and avoid them, and I can also make lists. These skills have provided useful and allowed me to keep calm and cherish some small wins along the way.

Here are a few of those small wins:

• I planted an avocado seed.

It was early in quarantine. It was an act of hope. I wasn’t really sure it would work. It is now a foot tall and has four leaves.

• I started an online art club with my daughter.

My daughter Haley and I immediately started making art daily as a way of coping. In April, we started Brown’s Art Club, a free weekly Zoom call for artists of all ages and abilities. Friday nights are spent with 10 to 40 people, making art together and learning from guest artists around the country. It is an intimate and vulnerable way to connect with friends and strangers from New England, Yonkers, N.Y., and even Australia. I have come to cherish this community and the gift it offers all of us at this time.

• I bike every day.

My Grandpa Haley biked more than five miles a day until he was 91. I have vivid memories of biking behind him; his flash of white hair, plaid shirt and steady pace. He did not appear to be going very fast, and I never understood why I was so winded trying to keep up. Today, my bike is one-speed, bright yellow and has a bungee cord wrapped around it to hold my water bottle. Biking makes me happy. I can still imagine Pappy right ahead of me.

• I explore in my own home.

I need escape and adventure to thrive. My daughter and I deeply miss traveling.

For me, exploring our own home and backyard has been a deliberate attempt to fill this need. I dig into old boxes, empty the bottom drawer, and search seldom-visited corners to find treasures I can revel in. Just today, I found a small glass jar filled with my baby teeth, labeled by my father who passed away in 1992. Hey, doesn’t that sound like an adventure?

• I photograph everything.

I may have formally studied etching at UNH, but my whole life I have loved making art and specifically photography. I document everything around me, all the time – little vignettes of life that grab me in the moment. I think seeing is a way of understanding, and I think that making art has the power to heal. It allows me to find a moment of beauty, whether color or light or shape, and honor it – breathe it in – and capture it. It’s like loving something deeply and quickly, and then moving on. The day lockdown started, I began “The Coronachrome Series,” posting one image daily from our life with Covid. I never imagined I would arrive at number 137, with no real end in sight. But I will keep taking photos.

So am I resilient? I don’t know. Am I coping? Yes.

I say acknowledge the mess. The mess of this tragedy, the mess of the world. The mess in ourselves.

And then go for the small wins.

You never know where you will find them.

Maybe even in an avocado seed.

Mary Jo Brown is founder and president of Brown & Company Design in Portsmouth.