I will confess that I'm finding it a bit frustrating that my favorite time of year has been "tainted" with all the fear and grieving and lack of companionship, but there we are. The lilacs (which were our wedding flowers) are starting to bud outside my window, and the magnolia trees are showing off their glorious colors. I've seen pink and white before, but never yellow. I was very impressed. There's a lot going on out there that I haven't noticed before.
Maybe this is part of the gift. Since we're not going anywhere anyway, we have time to actually look at where we are. Walks tend to be pensive and quiet. Wearing a mask gets in the way of my inborn ability to chat until your ears fall off. My husband may consider that HIS part of the gift. My brain, however, continues to whir like a helicopter blade, slicing from this thought to that one, from one image to another. What, exactly, are we supposed to take away from this extraordinary period of our lives? Surely, there must be something we are supposed to learn.
Himself has explored some very creative recipes, is starting a sourdough feed (whatever that is), and is growing apple seeds and basil in a small pot on the windowsill when he's not becoming the King of the Arduino (a computer thing). But that's not what I mean. Some friends are feeling as though they are "wasting" this given time when we should be learning to know ourselves better or master a foreign language or finally unclutter the house. This time is too important for just that.
Not unlike the flowers which have been lying dormant all winter, waiting to explode in a joyous chaos to the eye and nose, we, in our enforced solitude, are growing and changing in ways we neither understand nor control. We are the caterpillars, tucked into their cocoons, looking like withered pea pods, but hiding a secret and eventually erupting in glory. The changes are slow, but they are unavoidable. We are none of us who we were in March.
We are beginning to understand the importance of friendships, of voices, of touches. We have been forced to find ways to distract and amuse ourselves without the usual noises and habits. A great many people do not have the luxury of time to think. They are dealing with small children, or having to go out to work amidst the crippling fears and real dangers. They are fighting to keep us alive, whether we are sick or healthy. Doctors and food handlers, truckers and trash collectors, postal workers and grocery clerks, they are all out there making it possible for us to keep going. And while it's nice to tell them we appreciate their work, I find many have become resentful. They do not think of themselves as "heroes" as much as "victims of the economy" and can you blame them?
Some of us will emerge at the end of this time having gained or lost weight. Hairdressers will be in great demand as graying roots give away our little secrets. Some marriages will likely end, while others will be stronger and deeper than they have ever been. And those of us cut off from our religious services for all this time will have either worked out a stronger, if less formal, relationship with God, or we will choose to hold a grudge for whatever pain we have endured. And of course, some of us will have to learn to live with the incredible ache of having lost someone whose value we didn't appreciate until they were gone forever.
The skies over much of poor Mother Earth have noticeably cleared with the shutting down of factories and the diminishing number of cars on the road. From dolphins in the canals in Venice to cheeky deer and foxes prowling through city neighborhoods, there have been many changes. And they just happen. I don't think we are supposed to push them, but rather to feel them, to notice them. And somewhere down the line, to celebrate them.
Many people are growing weary of the quiet, of all this time to think. Some are starting to protest and are willing to take life-threatening chances to push this period to an end and to re-start "normal" life. This approach will not work. We can't end this on our schedule. We can't afford to get "sloppy" or complacent now. The reason "it doesn't look so bad" is that so many of us have been following the rules. If we rebel now we will certainly find out why the rules were there to begin with.
Take a deep breath and be patient. Let the changes happen, in nature, and in yourself. We may not be mastering a new language or our musical ability, but oh, how we are growing!
Maybe this is part of the gift. Since we're not going anywhere anyway, we have time to actually look at where we are. Walks tend to be pensive and quiet. Wearing a mask gets in the way of my inborn ability to chat until your ears fall off. My husband may consider that HIS part of the gift. My brain, however, continues to whir like a helicopter blade, slicing from this thought to that one, from one image to another. What, exactly, are we supposed to take away from this extraordinary period of our lives? Surely, there must be something we are supposed to learn.
Himself has explored some very creative recipes, is starting a sourdough feed (whatever that is), and is growing apple seeds and basil in a small pot on the windowsill when he's not becoming the King of the Arduino (a computer thing). But that's not what I mean. Some friends are feeling as though they are "wasting" this given time when we should be learning to know ourselves better or master a foreign language or finally unclutter the house. This time is too important for just that.
Not unlike the flowers which have been lying dormant all winter, waiting to explode in a joyous chaos to the eye and nose, we, in our enforced solitude, are growing and changing in ways we neither understand nor control. We are the caterpillars, tucked into their cocoons, looking like withered pea pods, but hiding a secret and eventually erupting in glory. The changes are slow, but they are unavoidable. We are none of us who we were in March.
We are beginning to understand the importance of friendships, of voices, of touches. We have been forced to find ways to distract and amuse ourselves without the usual noises and habits. A great many people do not have the luxury of time to think. They are dealing with small children, or having to go out to work amidst the crippling fears and real dangers. They are fighting to keep us alive, whether we are sick or healthy. Doctors and food handlers, truckers and trash collectors, postal workers and grocery clerks, they are all out there making it possible for us to keep going. And while it's nice to tell them we appreciate their work, I find many have become resentful. They do not think of themselves as "heroes" as much as "victims of the economy" and can you blame them?
Some of us will emerge at the end of this time having gained or lost weight. Hairdressers will be in great demand as graying roots give away our little secrets. Some marriages will likely end, while others will be stronger and deeper than they have ever been. And those of us cut off from our religious services for all this time will have either worked out a stronger, if less formal, relationship with God, or we will choose to hold a grudge for whatever pain we have endured. And of course, some of us will have to learn to live with the incredible ache of having lost someone whose value we didn't appreciate until they were gone forever.
The skies over much of poor Mother Earth have noticeably cleared with the shutting down of factories and the diminishing number of cars on the road. From dolphins in the canals in Venice to cheeky deer and foxes prowling through city neighborhoods, there have been many changes. And they just happen. I don't think we are supposed to push them, but rather to feel them, to notice them. And somewhere down the line, to celebrate them.
Many people are growing weary of the quiet, of all this time to think. Some are starting to protest and are willing to take life-threatening chances to push this period to an end and to re-start "normal" life. This approach will not work. We can't end this on our schedule. We can't afford to get "sloppy" or complacent now. The reason "it doesn't look so bad" is that so many of us have been following the rules. If we rebel now we will certainly find out why the rules were there to begin with.
Take a deep breath and be patient. Let the changes happen, in nature, and in yourself. We may not be mastering a new language or our musical ability, but oh, how we are growing!
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