The OCD Diaries

May 13, 2011

Giving In To Kids In Pain

Sean came home yesterday with some new headgear from the orthodontist. It’s painful for him because its new and his mouth is still adjusting to it. He has to wear it 14 hours a day to realign some teeth that sprouted in the wrong spots.

Last night he complained that it was painful. We gave him some Tylenol and he went to sleep. But Erin and I felt awful. A parent never wants to see their children in pain.

Mood music:

For me, the challenge has always been to push ahead and make the kids go through things they must endure for their own good. Many times I caved after seeing their tears, and while I cave out of love, it’s not the right thing to do.

Caving in to the kids means they grow up spoiled and unable to deal with the challenges life will inevitably hurl at them.

But for me, it aint easy.

I grew up in a house where there was a lot of yelling and hitting. My mother was the one out of control. My father was the one who would try to comfort us in the aftermath by giving in to our requests. He has a special place in my heart for that. But now that I have two kids, whenever they experience pain, I fold.

Like anything else in life, there’s a middle speed somewhere that I need to find. I have work to do on that score.

I’m hell-bent on sparing my kids from the discomfort I experienced at their age. But some of the discomfort they’re going to go through is a necessary part of growing up. Like going to the orthodontist and getting a metal contraption fastened to the mouth — then, to add insult to injury, telling the kid he can’t chew gum, drink soda or have candy for a long time to come.

Historically, we Brenners have not been kind to dentists and orthodontists.

My late brother came home the day he got braces and pulled them out in the bathroom with a pair of pliers. I stayed in braces three years longer than I should have because I skipped appointments, stuffed my face WITH the retainer in my mouth (before the braces) and smoked, which, by the way, isn’t good for braces, either.

I’m determined not to let our kids do that stuff, because as a parent that’s what I should be doing — standing my ground.

The key is to stand my ground when the tears start flowing.

One thing will make this easier:

While the orthodontist office of my childhood was a dark, sterile and boring environment, Sean’s going to an orthodontist who knows how to keep the kids happy while they’re in the chair.

They get to watch TV. They can play the X-Box if they want.

Those options didn’t exist when I was a kid.

Which makes me a little less sympathetic.

May 11, 2011

Facebook Dysfunction: A Family Affair

Let’s face it: We all have connections on Facebook that we constantly consider defriending because they say and do irritating things. I have no doubt there are people out there who feel that way about me.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/jyb8pMsyPFw

I have no problem with people un-friending me. Not anymore, anyway.

At one point, I had to admit that my obsessive-compulsive demons were latching onto the Facebook friend count, and that each loss of a connection felt like a personal blow. My mind would spin endlessly about why someone felt the need to disconnect from me. Was it something offensive I did? Did I hurt someone or come off as a fake?

But I’ve come to see that sometimes it’s the right thing for a person to do. This blog covers a lot of heavy stuff. A lot of people have become daily readers and tell me my openness has inspired them to deal with their own issues. But for others, especially those with a lot of pain in their lives, every post is going to feel like a baseball bat to the head.

Then there’s the heavy volume of content that flows down my news feed, which can dominate the news feeds of people with a smaller number of connections.

I admit it: I can be very hard to live with in the House of Facebook. I’m the loud obnoxious guy who hogs the dinner table conversation.

But some of you are hard to live with, too.

— Some of you post a lot of bad music.

–Some of you complain about every little, stupid thing.

–Some of you blather on about all the big things you have going on, but you never seem to complete what you started.

–Some of you post way too many pictures of babies with food on their faces. I looove babies, but come on now.

–Some of you take self-portraits each morning with your cell phones, always from the driver’s seat of your car. That gets annoying.

–Some of you carry on with the same political whining all the time, to the point where it’s just a bunch of noise.

–Some of you can’t help but take a picture of your food. The problem is that practically no one cares what you’re about to put in your mouth.

–Some of you have fights with significant others where the rest of us can see it.

–Some of you get all lovey-dovey with your significant other where everyone can see it. That’s particularly gross.

–Some of you put up so many philosophical quotes that it all becomes a blur, just like the political whiners.

Is all that stuff worse than the things I do on Facebook? It’s all in the eyes of the beholder.

None of what I mentioned is all that bad, really. We’re all just being human.

We’ve all had to deal with difficult family members, friends and co-workers. That’s life.

In that sense, Facebook is just another mirror.

We all like to look at ourselves in the mirror, whether it’s to admire our new shoes or cringe over our girth.

But I’d like to think that most of us, despite the annoying things we do on here, are worth keeping around and even helping at times.

We’re one big dysfunctional family, and there’s a lot of fun in dysfunction if you know what to look for.

And if someone like me really gets to be too much to put up with, you know where the unfriend button is. No hard feelings.

May 11, 2011

The Priest Who Walked Away

In the decade I’ve lived in Haverhill, Mass., I’ve seen the best and worst sides of the Catholic Church.

On the ugly side, there were priests who played a part in the sex abuse that ultimately blew up in Cardinal Law’s face. There are parishioners who get so caught up in church politics that they forget what they’re truly there for, and they make life miserable for others. There was the priest who used church funds to buy pornography.

On the other side of the spectrum was the priest who went public about his alcoholism, inspiring us all with his comeback. And, most importantly, there are all the people who have found their faith in recent years regardless of whatever ugliness is in the headlines, including me.

Now comes news of the Rev. Robert Conole, pastor of Sacred Hearts Parish, who walked away from his duties to seek help for a “personal matter,” according to my local paper and former employer, The Eagle-Tribune.

Church officials aren’t saying what exactly made him walk away. I’ve heard rumors, but I’m not going to fuel speculation that may or may not be true. All we know is that something got to him and compelled him to walk away for awhile.

We forget priests are human, prone to all the mistakes the rest of us make.

Father Conole has been under immense pressure in recent years. He took on another church in Groveland, Mass., when the Archdiocese of Boston merged a bunch of parishes four years ago. Then Dennis Nason, pastor of my parish, All Saints, passed away last fall, and Conole was given the job of administrator until Father Tim Kearney became pastor more than three months later.

In the eyes of God we all get a shot at redemption. But back in the real world, among mortals, it doesn’t always work that way. People talk and speculate, especially when they don’t know the reason for something like a priest abruptly leaving.

But I’ve also seen people do great things when a priest falls down. I think Father Nason was able to beat back his alcoholism because of the massive outpouring of support he got from the parish. People sent him cards, drawings and letters by the truckload. Gestures like that can make an enormous difference for a person who hits bottom.

When you hit bottom, you start to give serious thought to the possibility that you just might fail to make it out with your soul intact. I remember when my addictions and OCD brought me to that point. Whether it makes you suicidal or not, death starts to look a lot more attractive. But I got to hit bottom out of the public eye. I didn’t have to worry about what the headlines would say.

Since starting this blog, I’ve gotten a ton of support from people. That support makes you feel like you can overcome any obstacle. Just knowing you’re not alone is a big deal.

I think the people of Sacred Hearts should show Conole that kind of support, just like the people at All Saints did for Father Nason a decade ago.

Find out what his current address is. Send him letters, cards and whatever else might cheer a wounded soul.

Let him know you’re pulling for him.

May 9, 2011

“Do Something Every Day That Scares You”

During some leadership training at work a few months ago, the facilitators urged us to follow the advice of Eleanor Roosevelt and “Do something every day that scares you.” Now comes this new Sixx A.M. album and a song called “Are You With Me Now” with the line, “Find the places that scare you, come on I dare you…”

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/ede2_tuZJp8

A cosmic reminder to get out of my comfort zone? Perhaps. But it’s a tricky exercise, and not because I’m too scared to do something big and risky.

I’ve done a lot of things that were big and risky for me in recent years. Now I’m left with a bunch of little things that scare me, and the bigger things seem easier in the rear-view mirror.

The most fearsome thing I’ve done is confront the fear and anxiety that used to torment me. To do so, I had to make the decision to try out an antidepressant called Prozac. In my mind back then, to take a pill meant admitting defeat and trying something that could make me a lot worse. But desperation forced me to move past those feelings and in I went.

That was five years ago, and I haven’t had a single anxiety attack since then. Without the anxiety, the fear started to lose its grip.

A bunch of other fears had to be faced leading up to that point, of course. Fear of going to a therapist because he or she would probably just confirm that I was a freak who didn’t fit in with the rest of society.

Fear of going to an Overeater’s Anonymous meeting because the very name sounded embarrassing to me. A 12-Step program for binge eaters? That would surely make me look like a freak, since, you know, binge eating isn’t a genuine addictive behavior according to some. Forget that as an anonymous group, no one was going to know I was doing it anyway. I knew, and that was scary enough.

Admitting I was powerless against my addictions and putting my full trust in God to remove the defects was scary, because OCD is all about trying to control everything. The insanity of the disorder is the reality that in the big picture, we have absolutely no control over most things in life.

Making amends with people from my past for things that I did to them back then was scary. When a relationship fades on a bad note, the hardest thing on Earth is to look the person in the eye and say you’re sorry.

The decision to stop drinking was scary, because after I put the food down I was relying on a steady flow of alcohol as a crutch. Pick up a drink to put down the food. “Normal” addicts usually do it the other way around.

Looking at all this, I feel like I’ve heeded the call of Eleanor Roosevelt and Sixx A.M. But not entirely.

I’ve faced down a lot of big fears and I’m better for it. But I still have a bunch of little fears that are rooted in things that may seem insignificant by comparison.

One fear is to shut down the laptop, pack it away for several days and exist without the ability to see what everyone is doing all the time. I reigned in my addictions to food and alcohol. I brought the compulsive spending down to a dull roar. But the Android. The Laptop. Technology is a new addiction and I’m a slave.

In some respects, it’s strange that this is now my lot in life. For most of my adulthood, I was never an early adopter of the latest gadgetry. I didn’t own an iPod until late 2008, and it’s one of the older models. I was still using a Walkman and cassette tapes long after everyone started switching to digital music.

And yet here I am, skilled to the gills in the ways of smartphones, social networking and squeezing Internet connectivity out of the most remote places.

Shutting it all down? That would scare me. For now, I have the best excuse in the world not to do it: My job. Without the Internet, I can’t do the job.

Another fear would be to join a Way of Life (AWOL) group. AWOL is a method of studying the Twelve Steps using a specific format. It involves what some might call brutal discipline. It’s a closed study group. On the surface, I see these groups as too rigid — living examples of the solution becoming an addiction. And yet several people who I know to be perfectly sane keep telling me it’s worth doing.

Not traveling scares me. There’s always the fear that if I miss an opportunity to network with industry peers and simply be seen, I’ll become a nobody again.

That last one is an interesting fear, since one of the fears I kicked long ago WAS a fear of travel. It used to terrify me. Now I’m terrified to stop.

I’m a person of contradictions, I admit.

But facing the bigger fears tells me I can face these smaller ones.

May 8, 2011

Mothers

Here’s a celebration of the moms in my life — the ones I can’t live without and the ones I don’t talk to anymore.

Mood music:

There’s my mother. We don’t talk these days ( I covered the reasons in a post last year) but I want to thank her for doing her best with the tools she had at the time. Having kids like us wasn’t easy. I remember a lot of yelling in my house as a kid. I remember a lot of hitting, too. And a lot of tears. But I also remember her worrying about me endlessly and sitting beside my hospital bed for weeks on end as the Crohn’s Disease raged inside me, and dragging herself to her wit’s end taking care of my grandparents and great-grandmother, all of whom could be difficult. Maybe one of these days a reconciliation will happen. For now, it is what it is.

There’s Erin, my love, best friend and mother of my two beautiful children. I’ve written a lot about my wife in this blog. The best place to catch up on that is a compilation post I did a few months ago called “How Marriage Saved Me.” To say she saved me is not an exaggeration.

She gave me two beautiful sons who remind me every day that this life is not all about me. I still fail to remember that frequently, but this family has without a doubt brought me a lot closer to salvation than I ever could have hoped for without them.

She has challenged me to be the best person I can be. She never lets it slide when I act like an ass, and she is THE reason I found God. An old priest friend once said a married couple’s job is to get each other into Heaven, and she’s done more for me on that score than I have in return.

She always makes the boys’ costumes at Halloween and that is just one element of her greatness: We could just buy costumes in the store and the kids may not mind. There’s nothing wrong with buying a costume. But to Erin that’s unthinkable. For those kids, only hand-made reflections of their fertile imaginations will do. It’s the harder way, but to her it’s the better way.

It’s that kind of spirit that keeps me trying to be a better man. It’s what I should do. But it’s also what she deserves: a better me.

There’s Dianne, my step-mother.

Me and Dianne were always in conflict. As a kid I thought she was in the marriage with my Dad for his business success. I fought constantly with the step-sister she gave me. I was jealous of the step-brother she gave me because he was suddenly the cute youngest kid. Before my parents divorced it was Michael, Wendi and me, the youngest. Being sick, I was also spoiled rotten. Then the step-siblings came along and Michael died, making me the oldest son, a title that carried a lot of pressure.

I blamed it all on her. Of course, she also gave me a beautiful half sister in late 1985 who came along at just the right time, bringing joy to the family I never thought we’d see again.

Fast-forward to 2011. I’ve learned a lot over the years. One is that I was the asshole most of the time back then. I was looking for people to blame for my pain and she was too good a target to pass up. She has stuck by my father through all kinds of illness and turmoil. She loves him deeply, and worries about him constantly. I’m eternally grateful to her for that.

There’s my Step-sister Stacey, who’s a great mom to my niece and nephew, Lilly and Chase. There’s my sisters-in-law, Sara and Robin, who have given me a precious niece and nephew.

There’s my mother-in-law, Sharon, who is one of the most peaceful souls I’ve ever met. To be around her is to feel safe and loved. She brought up four beautiful daughters and she’s a natural at the role of grandma.

There are my friends who are moms: Mary, Stacey, Denise, Donna, Deb, Lauren, Linda, Betsy, Vickie, Christie and endless others. They all inspire me with the love they show for their kids. That sort of inspiration makes me strive to me better, too.

And that’s why moms are so important, no matter how much we boys may fight with them. They push us to be better.

Happy Mother’s Day, with all my love.

–Bill

May 6, 2011October 8, 2015

Don’t Let Politics Kill Friendships

This is based on the heated debate that followed the death of bin Laden. But it rings especially true today, given the political animosities from the left and right.

Yesterday I got into a Facebook tussle with an old friend over a political disagreement. I used the word “bullshit” and regret it now. It flies in the face of what I’ve learned about people and politics.

The subject was the bin Laden death photos and whether they should be released. She says yes, I say no. She was respectful about it, I wasn’t.

I used to look at people as enemies when I disagreed with their politics, just like I saw people with deformities or other differences as freaks. You might be thinking it’s a stretch to link politics with people who are physically different, but in my sometimes distorted mind, the thinking that triggers the response is the same.

The younger me wanted to be better than everyone else in how I looked and what kinds of politics I practiced. And I took both very seriously. Too seriously.

The fate of the world always seemed to hang on the next election. In 1994, when I was a lot more liberal than I am today, I felt devastated and depressed when the GOP swept both chambers of Congress. Two years before that, when Bill Clinton was elected president, I thought all would be right with the world. A lot of people had the same emotional jolt two years ago when Obama was elected.

I still care about the public discourse. I love that we live in a country where we can think and say what we want about our views in government, faith, and so on. But I don’t live and die by the political stuff like I used to.

I’ve also found that a person can be judged for their politics in the same harsh light someone can be judged for over their appearance. It shouldn’t be that way.

If your views are liberal, conservative, socialist or whatever, it doesn’t mean people have a right to judge you as good or bad. People will judge you anyway, but I need to be better than that.

I’ve been finding an intense beauty in the ability to be close to people you disagree with. Utah Sen, Orin Hatch and the late Sen. Edward Kennedy agreed on little politically, but had a deep friendship. I love my father-in-law even though I find some of his politics archaic and out of step with reality. Another close friend is a libertarian and we argue about a lot of things. But at the end of the day, we’re there for each other no matter what.

Yesterday, I think I got a little harsh with my other friend, like I would have done in the days of old. I got angry in my disagreement in a way that’s unhealthy and essentially told her she was full of shit on Facebook, for all to see. It goes to show you can always slide backwards, no matter how much you think you’ve advanced.

I don’t regret disagreeing with her position. I’d happily do it again.

But next time, I’ll do it differently. Because politics should never turn friends into enemies.

Credit: Ken Hurst – Dreamstime.com – Axest Marketing Inc

May 5, 2011

Morbid Curiosity

My tirade against Michele Mcphee and the bin Laden death photos yesterday got me thinking. Maybe part of my rage was coming from an uncomfortable truth about myself.

Mood music:

I’ve always had a morbid curiosity about blood-and-guts images. I’m nothing special there. A lot of people share that trait. That’s why you see so much spam posing as pictures of a dead bin Laden. The spam pushers know they’ll always hook in enough suckers to make some money.

I remember the first time I read “Helter Skelter” and saw crime scene photos where the bodies where whited out. I wanted to see the full photos so badly. It was the same thing when I read about the Amityville murders. Seeing those images became an obsession, and, eventually, the Internet would feed that obsession.

I felt pretty gross after seeing the Manson photos, especially the autopsy pictures. I felt evil for even wanting to see them. I’m grateful I had that reaction. Enjoying what I was seeing would have revealed something a lot darker about me.

Morbid curiosity for such photos is, in my opinion, no different than the curiosity someone has to see pornography.

It’s a dark temptation that was coded into our brains back when we were granted free will.

So when a talk radio host suggests that bin Laden’s death photos should be released to the public and that not doing so is an insult to the memories of 9-11 victims, I bristle.

Would I look at the death photos if they were released? Absolutely. The obsession never really goes away.

But I’d be ashamed afterward for looking.

If that makes me a wishy-washy left-wing tree-hugging type in the eyes of some people, so be it.

Mcphee made me think about an unpleasant side of myself, and I guess that’s a good thing. We should always be taking personal inventory because we could always do better.

But her motive wasn’t to make people like me think about how I could do better.

It was to incite more anger among the right-wing extremists that make up her audience.

May 4, 2011

An Insult To 9-11 Victims? Now That’s Stupid

Those who knew me 20-plus years ago will tell you I was one angry guy. I had a chip on my shoulder the size of Texas, and regularly thought about how awesome it would be to get my revenge on people who I believed wronged me at the time.

Back then, I would have craved seeing a picture of Osama bin Laden with his head blown off. I didn’t die on 9-11, obviously. I didn’t know any of the victims, either. But that day sure threw me into a stupor of fear. Fear has a habit of bringing out a lust for retribution.

Now bin Laden is dead and I’m as happy about it as the next guy. He was evil. Evil should be destroyed whenever the opportunity presents itself. It’s pretty cut and dry.

But what happens after that, when someone asks to see the photos?

Mood music:

The news just came out that President Obama will not release photos of bin Laden’s corpse. Michele Mcphee, host of the Michele McPhee Show on AM 680 WRKO in Boston, is outraged. In all caps across her Facebook page is this statement: INSULT TO THE MEMORIES OF THOSE MURDERED ON 9-11!

Give me a fucking break. Seriously.

Explain how not releasing the photo insults their memories. All the photos would do is appeal to everyone’s desire to see more blood. I’ll admit it: I would look at the photo. But I’m not proud about it. I’m glad I won’t have the opportunity.

Some things are better left unseen.

As for those who will cry conspiracy and lies if they don’t have the proof in front of them, whatever. These folks will find plenty of reasons to say those things because they don’t like anything about Barack Obama.

I’m not what you’d call an Obama fan. I wanted Hillary to win in 2008. But when people get so wound up over politics, they will always play up their adversary as the devil. And so it is in this case.

The bad guy is dead. He’s not coming back. If you really need to see a picture of his corpse for proof, I feel sorry for you. I feel even more sorry for you if you think we have to release such a photo to honor the memories of those who died on 9-11-2001.

I don’t know McPhee. I’m sure she’s a fine person. But this crap is just her playing to her right-wing audience. It doesn’t help us move forward. It just gives people more fodder for their useless bitching sessions.

I’m not talking about those who have real policy differences and have other ideas about how best to conduct government. I’m talking about people who just want someone they can hate because they’re unhappy about their own lives.

Instead of working on alternative solutions, they just sit there and whine all day about who is to blame for their lot in life.

Grow up and move on. Honor the victims by trying to live a better life.

May 4, 2011

Your Addiction Is Doing Push-ups

I watched an interesting interview Nikki Sixx did with Dr. Drew recently. Sixx talked about his addictions and how he always has to be on guard. Dr. Drew followed that up with a line that rings so true: “Your addiction is doing push ups right now.”

I know that as a binge-eating addict following the 12 Steps of Recovery, I can relapse any second. That’s why I have to work my program every day.

But Sixx makes another point I can relate to: Even though he’s been sober for so many years, he still gets absorbed in addictive behavior all the time. The difference is that he gives in to the addiction of being creative. He’s just released his second book and second album with Sixx A.M. Motley Crue still tours and makes new music. He has four kids, a clothing line and so on. He’s always doing something.

I get the same way with my writing. That’s why I write something every day, whether it’s here or for the day job. I’m like a shark, either swimming or drowning. By extension, though I’ve learned to manage the most destructive elements of my OCD, I still let it run a little hot at times — sometimes on purpose. If it fuels creativity and what I create is useful to a few people, it’s worth it. I get the same way about my community activism as well.

The danger is that I’ll slip my foot off the middle speed and let the creative urge overshadow things that are more important.

That’ll be the devil breathing down my neck until the day I die.

May 4, 2011

The Sinister Minister’s Definition of Normal

The news of Osama bin Laden’s death makes me wonder: Are we all hoping now that things will go back to normal, to the way life was before 9-11? I can’t help but think of wars of the past, and how there was always a craving to “go back to normal.”

Mood music:

One of the better examples of our craving for normal was in 1920. It was right after World War 1 and presidential candidate Warren G. Harding promised a return to “normalcy.” Normalcy wasn’t even a proper word, but Americans liked the sound of it. Harding was elected and went on to make history as one of the 20th century’s most useless presidents.

A lot of history has happened since them, of course. We’ve seen many more wars and economic upheavals. We all have our ideas of what normal is in the public realm. Normal doesn’t always lead to good things. Just look at the “normalcy” of the 1920s, which ended in the start of the Great Depression.

In our personal lives, it’s also true that grasping for “normal” hasn’t always led to good things. We have our ideas of what a normal life looks like: Working a 9-to-5 job, ball games on weekends, falling asleep in front of the TV at night.

Then we have our ideas of what normal looks like in individuals. The conventional kind of individual normal is usually described as someone who doesn’t look or talk funny, dresses in a way that doesn’t scream for attention and blends in. Normal people follow the latest fashions. A so-called normal person eats regular portions at mealtime and can make do with just a couple sips of wine. A normal person gets along with his or her family and listens to everything parents advise them to do.

Here’s the Wikipedia definition of normal:

“In behavior, normal refers to a lack of significant deviation from the average. The phrase “not normal” is often applied in a negative sense (asserting that someone or some situation is improper, sick, etc.) Abnormality varies greatly in how pleasant or unpleasant this is for other people. The Oxford English Dictionary defines “normal” as “conforming to a standard”. Another possible definition is that “a normal” is someone who conforms to the predominant behavior in asociety. This can be for any number of reasons such as simple imitative behavior, deliberate or inconsistent acceptance of society’s standards, fear of humiliation or rejection, etc.”

Of course, life doesn’t work that way. And thank God for that.

I’ve been thinking about our warped notion of normal a lot lately. The bin Laden story has just intensified those thoughts. I’ve also been thinking about it because of Nikki Sixx’s new book and accompanying Sixx A.M. album, “This is Gonna Hurt.” The project illuminates the beauty of people who don’t look like the conventional picture of normal. Some of Sixx’s photo subjects are missing limbs or suffer from serious deformity. But for these people, that is normal.

For me, a dysfunctional family, addictive behavior and mental disorder have all been normal. My normal. Binge eating isn’t considered a normal addiction, but in my world it is. It leads to the same normal self destruction that heroin and cocaine leads to. It’s just not as expensive and it’s legal.

My mother always tossed the word around when talking disapprovingly about something me, Erin or the kids did. “That’s not normal,” she would whine.

In her world, “not normal” is anything that fails to conform to her wishes.

Normal really is a bullshit word when you get down to it.

Most of us are different. And that’s how it should be. If God had created us all to conform to the average way, He would have been pretty bored.

I have a big nose and big ears. My waistline is up around the ribcage. People say I dress like a priest because I wear the cross around my neck where everyone can see it and wear a lot of black. Given the heavy metal I listen to all day and my studded boots, you could say I resemble something closer to a sinister minister.

Disclosure: I didn’t come up with “sinister minister.” It was actually the name of a local band from the 1980s. I wonder whatever happened to them? They sure as hell weren’t normal, but that made them a lot more fun to hang around with at parties.

Anyway, I just wanted to suggest that there is no such thing as normal or abnormal.

We’re all meant to be different as individuals. Our families are all meant to be different. Current events have never fit the description of average. Never for long periods, anyway.

Instead of scowling at the lack of “normalcy,” you should embrace it.