Meh? Me, too.

I haven’t posted in some time. I’ve been languishing. It seems there’s an actual name for the “blah” feeling that’s beleaguered me since the pandemic.

And as I read every word in a recent New York Times article about the neglected middle child of mental health — languishing — I kept nodding in agreement. 

You don’t have symptoms of mental illness, but you’re not the picture of mental health either. You’re not functioning at full capacity, but not fully depressed.

Somewhere in between. Languishing. Meh.

The article states: “Languishing is a sense of stagnation and emptiness. It feels as if you’re muddling through your days, looking at your life through a foggy windshield. And it might be the dominant emotion of 2021.”

Sadly, this dull in the delight of life seems to have besieged many of us during the long-haul of covid-19 isolation.

Languishing is difficult enough, but grief has exacerbated that emptiness for me. As much as I loved my late father, six years of his care almost sucked the life out of me. Then, while caring for dad, my beloved Joe died unexpectedly. Dad followed in a year’s time.

Life paused for a breath and — at long last — I had time to start a new life in my late 60s.

I bought a house and moved, with plans to travel. I had already booked a river cruise to Germany. Along came covid.

I sat in an almost empty home for four months until stores re-opened and I could buy furniture. But I also was sitting with incredible loneliness and lack of purpose and direction.

Not only was I grieving my loved ones, but mourning the loss of any normalcy due to the pandemic. I couldn’t meet friends for lunch, dinner, movies or plays. Forget trips, domestic or international.

Thankfully, I inadvertently stumbled on the antidote — writing the first draft of a novel during the horrid year that shall not be named.

According to the New York Times article, one of the ways to battle languishing in a concept called “flow.”

In his piece, Adam Grant, an organizational psychologist, writes:

“Flow is that elusive state of absorption in a meaningful challenge or a momentary bond where your sense of time, place and self melts away. People who became more immersed in their projects managed to avoid languishing and maintained their pre-pandemic happiness.”

Those who have been absorbed in writing, painting, singing, woodworking, meditation — choose your project — know that sense of flow.

And although my novel needs much work and probably will never see publication, the year-long series of writing assignments served a purpose I hadn’t anticipated. It kept me from falling into full-fledged languishing.

Instead of tackling and writing a 90,000-word novel, however, perhaps a small win might’ve served me better.

Grant writes one of the “clearest paths to flow is a just-manageable difficulty — the tiny triumph of figuring out a whodunit or the rush of playing a seven-letter word in Words with Friends. That means carving out daily time to focus on a challenge that matters to you — an interesting project, a worthwhile goal, a meaningful conversation.”

As to the latter, a dear friend and I have done just that. During the pandemic, we decided that we would speak on the phone every day.

Both single women of a certain age, we decided it was a way not only to make sure we were both OK, but a way to strengthen our connection and friendship in a world where life had shut down. Another good friend and I have periodic and lengthy conversations about all things writing, art and life in general.

The upside is, as we begin to give voice to the quiet despair of isolation and separation due to the pandemic, we can remind ourselves that we are not alone: languishing is common and shared.

Shared or not, I don’t like it any more than you do. But naming it helps. As do those small wins. Today, perhaps a walk. Finishing this blog post. Giving myself permission to languish even though I’d rather be moving full speed ahead.

In the South, when someone asks how you are, some folks are known to respond, “Tolerable.” Not too bad. Not too good.

In today’s pandemic world, that might translate to “languishing.” 

And hey, after all we’ve been through – I’ve been through — that’s OK.

Eventually, all things pass. Even the meh.