Yoga, Computers & Other Tolerations

Since the Covid-related shutdown, I have been practicing yoga virtually. It’s one of those habits that once I was cornered into the routine of setting up my space and logging into Zoom, I stuck with it. I find virtual yoga convenient, accessible, and time efficient. Last week, I had just completed my Kriplau yoga session on Zoom, rolled up my mat, and grabbed my MacBook from the floor. As I toted it to the kitchen, I thought, “Hmm, it feels warm. Hot even.” By the time, I set it on the counter and flipped up the screen, the laptop was dead.

Months ago, I had the identical issue with the very same computer. Out of the blue, the screen blacked out and the laptop refused to power up. You know that feeling, right? Your pulse soars, sweat ekes out of every pore, you sorta think you’re gonna pass out, and you curse yourself for not backing up your files properly. 

When the computer battery failed initially, I was immersed in the final edits of my new book, Belonging Matters: Conversations on Adoption, Family & Kinship (Muse Literary), which releases next month—in time for National Adoption Awareness Month. 

With all that in play, you can imagine my panic. 

I got Apple Support on the phone, and we troubleshooted. Lucky for me, once the battery cooled down, I was able to sign back into my laptop. But before I was back in business, I made a vow. Get a new computer ASAP and start backing up consistently and efficiently. 

Well… 

I did both of those things, but I didn’t fully switch to the new computer right away. Life got in the way. I didn’t make the time to fully migrate my files and passwords to the new computer. And then the hot-computer-Zoomyoga-battery-failure occurred. 

I panicked when it happened, but only a little. Since I had backed up my files to the cloud—as well as utilizing an external disk drive—within a few hours I was seated in my ergonomic desk chair editing my third book, American Family: A Daughter’s Memoir About Love, Loss, and Belonging (She Writes Press), which releases October 8, 2024.

Oh, the things we do to ourselves, and the things we must tolerate.

This failed computer episode reminds me of an essay I wrote in the thick of the pandemic, one that appears in my forthcoming book, Belonging Matters. 

Here’s an excerpt: 

On Monday at 5:00 a.m., my condo building’s fire alarm blared. The undulating screeches—which continued for a solid thirty minutes—alternated with a woman’s kind but insistent voice informing my husband and me: There has been a fire reported in your building. Please leave your unit and find safety. The fire department is on its way.

To my husband, I muttered, “What next?” To myself, I mused, “How much more can I tolerate?”

This past year while we watched the nation battle the pervasive pandemic, the surges of racial unrest, and a contested, divisive presidential election, I was embroiled in my little world of misery. In October, the week that my husband and I were to leave our home in northwest Indiana to spend the winter in Sarasota, we got a midnight phone call: our upstairs neighbor’s water heater had flooded our newly decorated condo. This dumb luck affected several other units and the condo lobby, too.

Misery does love company.

For weeks, my husband and I fought to get an insurance adjuster to come out and evaluate the waterlogged insulation and drywall, wrecked carpets, and tile floors and to give us an allowance for repairs. Concurrent with the drama of gathering our items and putting salvageable furnishings into permanent storage, we interviewed quality contractors who could restore our unit to its previous condition. 

During these nerve-wracking weeks, we scrounged for suitable interim housing, a rare commodity given that the “snowbirds” had booked the best rentals the previous year. The skinny is that a nearby, fully furnished rental with beach access magically opened up. The owners had intended to replace all the windows and doors but due to COVID-related manufacturing and shipping delays, the unit was immediately available. We considered ourselves lucky . . . until a tropical storm/Category 1 hurricane came bounding in. 

As my husband and I hid in the bathroom, away from the rattling and needing-to-be replaced doors and windows, I was reminded of my youth. In the Midwest, my siblings and I grabbed our flashlights and scrambled to the basement, waiting for the tornado sirens to go off. Yet, in this tiny Florida condo, there was no basement, and the flashlight we found in the back of the silverware drawer lacked batteries. I scolded myself. As a past Girl Scout leader, hadn’t I been trained to be better prepared?

There is always more to endure if we look for it.

As I write this, the master bath sink is slow to drain, black mold clings to the caulk in the shower, and the fridge has decided to freeze everything on the two bottom shelves. I also doubt that the dishwasher can sanitize the hodge-podge of dishes I shove in there.

Enough already. Here’s the good news. Our old condo has been restored and will soon be ready for us to move in.

After surviving the pandemic year with most of my sanity intact, I have a new outlook on toleration. When we are subjected to more challenges than we think we can cope with, we find a way to endure. We can all tolerate more than we expect. 

I love that last line: We can all tolerate more than we expect. And I will add to it with the reflection that we all learned a lot from the pandemic years: resiliency, patience, the ability to defer gratification. And we picked up new habits and hobbies, like yoga, ones which have stuck with us, making us healthier and happier.

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On November 1, Julie’s new book, Belonging Matters: Conversations on Adoption, Family & Kinship will be available for purchase in all formats wherever books are sold.

On December 18, Julie will do a Q&A/Author Talk about Twice a Daughter with the Hiraeth Hope & Healing Book Club. 

On January 9, Julie will speak to The Respect for Life Group at St. Mary Star of the Sea on Longboat Key in Sarasota.

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