A 50% Chance of Fog This Week

Fighting the fog of frustration, I fall, exhausted.

The fog rolls in slowly, unexpectedly. I never see it coming, though I know when the conditions are right. The schedule builds, the rest time fades, and the margin for the unexpected is minuscule. Bouncing from demand to demand, falling further and further behind on both responsibilities and desires, the stage is set for the onset of the fog. I wander into it, barely noticing. A conflict arises. I handle it and move on to the next goal. But I do so perturbed. The fog thickens. I rush into the next demand, usually something I'm not all that excited about. It doesn't go smoothly either, and now my frustration is visible. Stressed, I head to what's next, now so accustomed to the fog that I forget that it's even there. It becomes a constant state of mind, a companion, hovering just enough to cloud reality. I hate the fog.

Conditions are ripe for me in December to experience this fog of frustration. When I'm not careful, I allow increased demands to fall like dominoes into one another, knocking one experience into another. Tired and under the gun, I let classroom frustration carry over into basketball practice. Or basketball frustration to carry over into parenting. Or parenting frustration to carry over into my Bible class, or cleaning, or Christmas preparation. Sooner or later I'm yelling at the dog because a domino fell 3 days before and I never bothered to stop the collateral damage. The fog penetrates all areas, and eventually I'm going to bed frustrated so that I can wake up frustrated so that I can get frustrated because my kids can't put their shoes on in under 5 minutes when it's time to go and it's snowed another inch after I just got done shoveling the night before at 10 pm in the bitter cold.

The fog clouds reality, making the good difficult to see and drawing attention from it as soon as possible. It makes me prone to accidents, to recklessness, to speeding cluelessly past opportunities. The fog is a hazard.

I write this not because I'm in the midst of it right now, but because I recognize that now is an easy time to fall victim to it. My guess is this time of year might be that way for you as well. There's more to do, and more people to do it with. Personal expectations of perfection rise, demands on your time and generosity increase, and stereotypical (and fictitious) holiday nostalgia skyrockets the requirements in our head of what it takes to make this time just right. Rush to buy, rush to wrap, rush to pack, and rush to travel. Smile for all. Decorate and bake. Allow no room for mistakes, mishaps, or inconveniences.

I wish you no frustration, and I wish that the frustration that does arise passes without clouding your next minute, the next hour, or the next week. But what if it does?

I'm not sure that I've discovered a way to get myself out of it. I try to slow down, to take a deep breath, to remember what's important. Then I get frustrated that I stopped to take a deep breath. What has actually worked best in leading me out of the fog, in my experience, are actions outside of my control. Like when my friend from down the hall reminds me I'm a good teacher. Or when another friend tells me a joke. Someone asks how my day is and means it, speaking to me in a way that doesn't make me feel like a commodity. A player gives me a hard time. An old student visits. My wife hugs me for no reason. My daughter sings "Joy to the World."

I have no advice for getting yourself out of the fog. But I do think it's rather simple to get someone else out without ever knowing that they're in it. In the next couple of days, then, when all around are facing the threat of fog, be that friend, or that sibling, or that stranger. Offer someone a break from frustration, a glimpse of reality, a dose of joy. Perhaps, by helping others navigate their way out, we stand to protect ourselves from a similar fate as well.