When I was in my early teens my family spent several summers gillnet fishing on the coast of Alaska. We lived in a one-bedroom cabin – me, my much younger sister, my parents and a crewman.
It was an out of the way location to say the least. We arrived by bush plane, shipped everything we would need for the entire summer via cargo ship and then aircraft in gigantic totes, and lived in relative isolation. There were no telephones, no internet (it was the ‘90s after all) and no television. There were no kids my age and no town to socialize in.
What I’ve just described might sound, to some, like a nightmare – and it definitely had its drawbacks (and its adjustment period). To begin with I missed my friends, the phone, the television, my own bedroom – everything!
But slowly, as I leaned in to my new life, I began to realize all of the things I had gained – unstructured time to do the things I loved (reading, writing and drawing) while in the company of the people I looked up to most, my parents.
That meant, during a time in my life when I could have become more distant from them – leaning in to social expectations, media pressures and my own hormonal musings – our family actually became closer; working together, cooking together and spending time just talking.
Through the years I’ve thought a lot about those months, especially after becoming a mother. And I’ve often wished that I could offer that same gift to my own children. But in this increasingly busy world, finding a quiet space, feels impossible. Dragging them off to the wilds of Alaska, as my own parents did, just isn’t in the cards.
So, I have to admit, as scary and crazy as this current COVID-19 crisis is for us all, there is a little piece of me that is rejoicing in this one small gift that I can finally offer my children, this time to just be with themselves.
Which is why, dear teachers, coaches and friends, I’m opting out of many of the computerized, learning platforms, Facetime, online practices on offer. Instead, I am being very thoughtful about how much time we spend with our faces turned to a screen and less controlling during the time when it isn’t.
I’m trying to let my kids sit with their boredom until they find themselves picking up a pencil or a paintbrush, turning to a favorite book they’ve read 100 times, or running out to the yard as soon as the sun peaks out from behind a cloud.
Because these are the things I remember most fondly from my own childhood – not time watching MTV or chatting on the phone with friends (though I’m sure those were fun, too) but the time I spent teaching myself to shuffle a deck of cards, draw faces from the pictures in magazines or bake a loaf of raisin bread without the help of a machine.
And so, while the world may feel like it’s out of control, it’s helpful for me to remember there are some things I can control – and I’m not talking about my stock of toilet paper – I’m talking about the ability to just be here, in this place, with these people I love and to remember what really matters.
