A struggle: I want to believe we are all in this together, that in coming alongside one another, even from a distance, we will beat the virus. I fear, instead, that the refusal to believe scientific evidence coupled with putting individual perceived “rights” (to not wear a mask, to pretend business as usual will not be harmful, to ignore CDC and WHO recommendations or to dismiss them because “I’m not high risk,” etc) will further divide an already polarized nation. And for what? A few more dollars in our pockets at the cost of many more lives lost? Remember in the beginning when this country was told we wouldn’t have a problem, then that there would be very few deaths, then that a hundred thousand would be pretty good? I lose sleep over this, not because I’m pessimistic- I’m not- and not because I’m liberal- though I am. I have eyes and ears as well as the recognition that I don’t know enough to make best practices recommendations. People devote their whole lives to studying this stuff, and they, along with those on the frontlines who must go to work and risk illness themselves, need to be considered when making choices.
This struggle is the exhaustion-inducing grief of living in this moment, and I know that acknowledging it allows breathing room for all of the other pieces of living in this moment, many of which counterbalance the weight of the virus.
Staying home, because we have enough to live in a comfortable house with access to what we need, has slowed the pace of life for weeks now. Instead of feeling frantic during the workweek, which had become commonplace for me, I complete my daily tasks without eyes constantly on an impossibly long to-do list. At work my role is reduced, which remains unsettling. My requests, though, are limited to prevent virus spread and to keep my workload reasonable for the time I have. My side-hustle has gone silent for the time being, and while I miss taking photos of families, I believe those opportunities will return down the road. With boundaries around work, I find myself grateful for time to run when the weather is best. Ty and I continue to go on a lot of walks, and noticing the changing trees and flowers almost daily mesmerizes me. Books get read and words get written on a whim, and that feels like I gift I haven’t had access to since high school. This week we had another dusting of snow and historic cold right alongside of warm, sunny evenings. The tulip garden at Elizabeth Park was in full bloom. Neither of us sleeps particularly well, but we have grown in our ability to rest, even with so much uncertainty. I feel like I report the same happenings weekly now, and while some of it is quite monotonous, the wonder of finding beauty in hidden corners of our home and neighborhood provokes curiosity and creativity, the very stuff of hope.
The unexpected halt to life as we knew it remains. I don’t have answers about what normal will look like when we get “back” to it. I do believe hope that even as we hear stories of the worst of humanity, many, many stories of goodness are being quietly lived out in masks on faces, in groceries purchased for elderly neighbors, in teachers reading stories, in smiles and waves and choosing to stay home, in signs in windows, in buying from small businesses whenever possible (we ordered takeout this week from our favorite Indian place- the first time we’d had restaurant food since March!). So we keep moving forward, hopefully with some wisdom and grace, packaged with a side of kindness. Hope you’re hanging in. The landscape of this perpetual Groundhog Day is shifting in some places; be and stay safe.
