Please Don’t Let Your Cup Get Too Empty

Musings on my Dad's passing and why keeping your cup full matters

This time last year, my Dad was dying of Covid. Beth Costello Smith took him to the hospital on October 7, then he spent three weeks in the ICU before passing away on October 22nd. He was ten days shy of turning 61.

I’m sitting here, with my fingers on the keyboard, knowing that there are a thousand different directions this musing could go. Fortunately, since I’ve found myself cast in the role of a daily writer, I know that I have time to write about them all. This daily habit helps make digesting big thoughts and feelings so much easier. I don’t have to dive into everything today. I can look at a one-inch piece of the story today. Then tomorrow I can look at a different one-inch piece. Then the next day, another. (Thanks, Anne Lamott, for the concept and thanks, Ry, for giving me Bird by Bird.)

The one-inch piece that I’m going to explore today (which is different from the one I thought I was going to explore two minutes ago) is keeping your cup full.

Last year, I lived an unusually chaotic life. Sam accepted a job in China before Covid became a thing, but then spent 2020 working from Florida. China’s borders closed before we could get in and our visas were invalidated.

Night after night, Sam led his team from afar. For those who don’t know, China is 12 hours ahead of Florida. That means that when Sam’s team was starting their day at 8:00 AM, Sam was starting his at 8:00 PM. Technically, he was starting his second workday, because he stayed involved with US projects, but that’s neither here nor there.

When the opportunity finally arose for Sam to go to China, it was a no-brainer. He needed to go. Working a US day then logging in for a China day was detracting too much from his quality of life to keep doing it any longer and we were both committed to still having our living abroad experience.

The challenge, however, was that China wasn’t yet issuing spouse visas. Sam could get in but I couldn’t.

Quality of life matters to both of us, so we agreed he needed to go. He left for China in February, and I moved to Thailand. We figured it’d be a month or two before I was able to join him in China, and I might as well enjoy myself while I waited to get in. Plus, Thailand is only 1 hour behind China. It’s way easier to connect with your partner when you’re in similar time zones.

Unfortunately, our hypothesis was wrong. Months passed and I was no closer to getting into China. Eventually, I found a loophole and realized I could get in through Dubai. I went to the UAE, got injected with a Chinese vaccine, then was finally eligible for a spouse visa. In October, when my visa was issued, we were the first couple to find a path in. (Yes, I am in fact bragging–you’re not imagining that. I’m proud AF that we found a path in when it seemed like all doors were closed.)

But the victory came at a high cost. By the time I left Dubai, I was worn out. I didn’t have friends there. I didn’t spend time in nature. I didn’t want to build a “Dubai life” during the 7 weeks I spent there because I didn’t actually want to be there. I was cranky. I was sick of being away from Sam. I was tired of living out of a suitcase, of making friends then leaving them. I wanted to get in and out, then be reunited with Sam.

When I was finally able to leave, I boarded a flight back to the US, passing through Pennsylvania on my way to Asheville.

After 7 miserable weeks in Dubai, all that I wanted to do was get to the mountains. My cup was empty and I knew that Asheville would refill it.

I spent one night with my mom before going out to New Jersey to pick up our car, then I made a pit stop in Virginia to see Shrek, Wolfgang, Emily and Sam’s parents.

This was September.

Roughly an hour from Asheville, I got a call from my Dad. “Dee Dee,” he said (no one in my family gets called by their real name), “I hear you’re in Pennsylvania.”

My heart sank. I had just passed through Pennsylvania and didn’t even think to reach out to my Dad to see if he wanted to grab lunch. Get a coffee. Spend an hour together.

I was too focused on getting to Asheville, because all I wanted was to feel better.

A lot of people turn to relationships to fill their cup, but I’m not one of them. Relationships are, without a shred of doubt, essential to keeping my cup full. But when I’m empty, all I want is time alone. I’m a seasoned pro at dealing with depletion (thanks, history of depression) and I know that a few days alone in nature, taking wiggly walks and relaxing does the trick.

And, by the way, I was right. It took two hikes to fill my cup back up. Three days into my Asheville trip, I was back to feeling like myself.

But, because I let my cup get too low, I have this unfortunate memory. One month before my Dad died, I drove within an hour of his house without stopping to say hi.

We weren’t particularly close, my Dad and I. I wasn’t a devoted or dutiful daughter. We had a strained relationship in my childhood and early twenties, then we found our peace. That peace included me stopping by when I was in town, then us enjoying a meal together. 

I’m not sitting here beating myself up, feeling like a monster or otherwise castigating myself. I’m just reflecting on something that happened. My Dad was 60. I had no idea our time was limited. I didn’t live in a space of, “I better take advantage of every opportunity because I don’t know when the end is coming.”

I was a 32-year-old living her life. I was drained and eager to refill my cup. I knew what I needed and I pursued it.

And while there are easy takeaways from this tale, like “see your parents every chance you get” or “don’t take relationships for granted,” I’m going to stay in character and end with this reminder instead: Do. Not. Let. Your. Cup. Get. Empty. (If you can help it.)

If my cup had been full, I would have stopped. Or I would have at least thought about stopping. My truth is that it didn’t even cross my mind. My overwhelmed, scattered, “I need to be in the mountains NOW” brain was in full survival mode.

When you’re in survival mode, you don’t think as clearly.

I can’t fix societal problems or address all the ways our culture hijacks our nervous systems, keeping many of us in a constant state of survival mode.

But I can suggest rebelling against that cultural norm. I can give gentle reminders that there are beautiful benefits to adopting a more relaxed way of living. I can also share stories about when there are consequences to pushing yourself past your limit. Consequences like not stopping to say hi to your Dad, then him landing on his deathbed a month later.

This morning, when I wrote out my priority list, my number one priority was, “Keep my cup full.” It’s the same every day. It comes ahead of my marriage, my writing, my career goals, my aspirations for children…everything.

Keeping my cup full comes first. Every single day. Without that, the rest doesn’t matter. A final lesson from my Dad, perhaps. One that serves me well.

Wishing you a full cup and ample time with your loved ones,