It was 10 pm and my husband was working on his homework in bed. I was adding color-coded blocks to my calendar so I wouldn’t have that dreaded moment tomorrow around 3pm, the WTF do I do next and OMG I cannot leave this house one.

He was frustrated with his work. I could tell by his tense body movements, which I could still feel even through our brand new king sized tempurpedic bed. I was under my heated blanket looking at my masterful creation of colorful order.

“Is there really this many hours in a week?” I thought out loud as I looked at the many empty spots still available in my week. I hadn’t even touched the weekend.

It was an inappropriate thing to say, I could tell. I asked the question I knew he wanted me to but I had been tactfully avoiding, “What’s wrong?”

We’re taking life coaching together, it’s a course we signed up for two weeks ago in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic. My father couldn’t understand for the life of him why we would choose to do that now, but there are a surprising number of things I find can still keep moving forward in our life. It seemed like a worthy investment and Jaime agreed, only right now he was having a hard time creating his “butt puckering goals.” That’s what they call them, a cleverly succinct way to put it.

“I don’t understand how to make these measurable, I mean, how would anyone know?” He scrunched up his eyebrows, which I’ve always thought are exquisite. He has full, thick brows that move in just the right way with his face. Even in this man baby moment, I find him to be attractive.

“Babe, don’t take it all so seriously. It’s just an assignment, worst case they’ll help you correct it and it’ll be done. You’ll feel good about it, just do the best you can now and submit it,” I smiled thinking I really nailed it on the advice. Short, practical, easy.

He stared through me in a way that indicated I had not done as well as I thought.

“You know, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” he looked back at his screen.

“Wait, okay, tell me more. Maybe I can help,” I said getting up and putting my phone away.

“Well, like, how the hell do I set a 30-day goal for being joyful?” he stared at me in a bit of an accusatory way like he knew whatever I’d say would be wrong, or at least that’s the story I made up about it.

“Well, how about asking yourself what kinds of things a joyful person does, or even start with areas of your life and what they could look like if you were joyful?” I poked his dimple, “Start with this one.”

This time, I really thought I got it. I even giggled so maybe he could see that this was itself a moment to add joy. How ironic to be upset about setting goals to be joyful, you know? It’s funny and we can laugh about it

“Okay, this isn’t helping,” he waved his hands dismissively.

I guess we can’t. I opened my mouth thinking I may have one more ace in my pocket and then closed it. I turned around and wrapped myself in my blanket. I pressed heat level 2 and closed my eyes. Cris, he probably needs space, just give that to him. But it was hard to fight the feeling that if my words came from someone else, say, our instructor, they would have been received differently. Why is it that when I say something it’s so quickly cut down? And then an AHA moment arrived even though I didn’t want it to. I recognized exactly where I was. I’d been there before: feeling resigned and frustrated but ultimately wanting desperately to be heard and matter.

I took another deep breath and let that sit. Perhaps in another time I’d talk myself out of it or distract myself with Instagram or ride the wave of that rage feeling that often bubbles inside my body as heat. It energizes me in a way that can feel good. It’s been a source of empowerment before, and yet I see what an illusion that is now.

Real empowerment doesn’t need to ride the coattails of a feeling born from the ego.

I felt Jaime’s hand on my shoulder as he gently nudged me up.

“I’m sorry. I don’t wanna go to sleep like this. That’s not what’s important, this is,” he said pointing to us.

I smiled and I felt love. That was our groove–– right there. I would have missed it if I wasn’t looking for it. Yes, it was a mundane night in bed (like any other) with a pretty normal spat that sometimes happens for us. And, yet, because we have nothing to do and nowhere to go, these mundane moments are everything. I’ve found myself paying attention to them fiercely, leaning into my discomfort that arrises in these simple interactions willing to ask if they’ve always been there. I would have dismissed this moment as not a big deal, gone to sleep and forgotten about it. And how many other moments was I sleeping through?

Life is a series of these mundane moments strung together. I haven’t been able to do it much, but when I can treat them like they matter, what a game changer that would be. So much could be possible.

Yes, social distancing can be isolating (literally) and yet if we lean into it, this can show us everything. If we’re willing to look, each moment will teach us something. Maybe now more so than ever because there is literally nowhere to go but here.

That’s okay. I accept it. I choose here. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.