Pivot

When I finished college, I dreamt of entering the Peace Corps. I went through the application process, talked to anyone who would listen about it and was assigned to Tonga, a tiny island in the South Pacific Sea, for my two-year adventure. And then, I received an email informing me that my application had been deferred. As it turned out, my medical exam revealed that I could not PIVOT. That single word, chosen by the knee surgeon who filled out the Peace Corps physical during one of my post-op visits, changed my life.

I’ve been thinking about that word a lot this year. Back in October, when I took a job at a small immigration law firm, the pivot was harsh. I went from a fairly unhurried, mundane stay-at-home mom life to being a re-born baby lawyer who had the huge responsibility of trying to help people win asylum cases. Leaving peaceful Newberg each morning to drive to Portland was a bit of a shock. At home, there was still storytime to attend to, dinner to make, my children to treasure. At work, I heard harrowing stories of people fleeing violence and worked to defend those people against a regime that doesn’t understand American history nor care much for the humanity of people outside of a certain demographic. I jumped back into lawyering like you jump into the deep end of the pool, and it took some time before I remembered how to swim.

A few months later, our youngest daughter had a febrile seizure. This followed right on the heels of a run with influenza B for me and so I was already physically depleted and emotionally wracked with guilt for sharing the virus with my kiddo. When she had her second seizure less than 3 weeks later, I knew it was time to pivot yet again. The shock of your child having a seizure is jarring, whether it is the first or the fifth time you have seen it. Adela’s vulnerability to seizures was obviously high and so Jeff and I made a plan that allowed one of us to be at home every day. This was complicated, as we had just welcomed an au pair from Argentina to watch our kids for the year and it meant that I could no longer meet with clients the majority of the week. But it was what we needed to do to make sure our child was safe, and so we adjusted.

And then, the whole world has had to pivot, as we came to understand what living in a pandemic means. Things that were unimaginable just weeks before have become ordinary. We don’t hug our friends, we don’t eat at restaurants, we wear face masks if we have to go to a store, and we don’t know when this will all be over. I know that for every single person, this has been a season of unprecedented change and for many, a time of incredible grief. It has been overwhelming and confusing, but the truth that keeps arising is that we have to keep going. Stay connected to the ones you love, offer extra kindness anywhere you can and know that you are not alone. The very best metaphor I have heard for the pandemic is that we are all in this storm: for some, it feels like a light rain, actually refreshing; for others, it is more like a thunder and lightning storm, a little scary and jarring; for others, this is like a hurricane, ripping the roof off of their homes and destroying their lives. Wherever you are in the storm, hang on. Praying for peace and safety for you all, with much LOVE, Jessie