It's almost spring again. One year ago tomorrow I left my office for the last time and have been sitting hunched over my computer in front of the ever-present Christmas tree ever since. As we start into another spring I ask myself how I've changed.
First, I fully acknowledge that we've had it easier than most. Although Himself was out of work for months at the beginning, he landed a job, and mine has been steady (if not always riveting). I didn't think I'd make it through Christmas without my sons for the first time ever, but I did and it took us two hours for everyone to open their presents on a Zoom chat. I went from political fury and fear, to exhaustion and then elation as Mr. Trump left the building. I was horrified at the state in which he left the country, but we're working on it.
I've done more writing than I've done in a long while, and I finally figured out how to fit reading into my schedule for a delightful escape from reality. I've dropped an additional 15 pounds for a total of 30. I've made peace with the wrinkles which were hiding under the fat. We now look "our age".
Since going out to dinner became a thing of the past (see above weight loss for an indication of how much a part of our lives THAT was) we have both learned to cook healthful and tasty meals at home. He's better at it than I am, but I sing better than he does, so we each have our niche.
Prayer, always a part of my day, has been getting a lot more of my time, but it's become a lot quieter and less panicked than it used to be. It's more like sitting in the presence of a friend who is so close that words aren't a necesary form of exchange anymore. And I've realized how much I have and how little I need to get by.
I desperately miss many people, particularly my children, and I cannot wait for the first hug. There will be tears and tissues. We've been in touch via the internet, but it's not the same. No need to tell you that. We've all been through that. And I'm surprised at the people I have not missed at all. My patience for willful ignorance has sunk to zero and I refuse to waste my time trying to convince others of my point of view if they want to get all their information from Facebook and Fox. My filters seem to have been a victim of the pandemic. I say what I want how I want and if you don't like it you don't have to listen. Actually, now that I think of it, this, I suspect, is a function of being over 65 rather than a symptom of the pandemic.
I have done more reading and thinking about racial injustice than I have in my life. The conversations are often uncomfortable and I feel completely inadequate to the task. My privilige is obvious even to me. Yet I will make peace with "squirming" until my heart grows large enough and brave enough to shine a bright light into the dark corners that exist somewhere inside me because of the world in which I grew up. And I will learn to listen. I've already learned to care. And to hope in a kinder, more welcoming world for everyone, regardless of race, sexual orientation or identity, or even (God help me) political perspective.
Above all, I have realized how important it is to be kind and how many people put no value on it at all. It's so easy, and the returns are so satisfying. We are all so fragile these days in many ways (although we've become much stronger in other ways). We all need some gentle words and some indication that we are not alone. That someone is watching and caring what happens to us.
So it hasn't been a total bust for me. We've lost a few relatives, but I've also been thinking quite a bit about death and have come to the conclusion that it's a part of life and I'm not afraid of it. It just is. Again, I've been embarrassingly lucky through no virtue of my own, and I know that. I am not the person I was one year ago. Some aspects of myself have been stripped away, and others have grown a life of their own. As we get ready to emerge from our collective cocoons I'm hoping for butterfly wings and a gratitude that does not forget the lessons learned. And I'll still wear my mask for the foreseeable future. It shows love for other people. And it hides the wrinkles.
First, I fully acknowledge that we've had it easier than most. Although Himself was out of work for months at the beginning, he landed a job, and mine has been steady (if not always riveting). I didn't think I'd make it through Christmas without my sons for the first time ever, but I did and it took us two hours for everyone to open their presents on a Zoom chat. I went from political fury and fear, to exhaustion and then elation as Mr. Trump left the building. I was horrified at the state in which he left the country, but we're working on it.
I've done more writing than I've done in a long while, and I finally figured out how to fit reading into my schedule for a delightful escape from reality. I've dropped an additional 15 pounds for a total of 30. I've made peace with the wrinkles which were hiding under the fat. We now look "our age".
Since going out to dinner became a thing of the past (see above weight loss for an indication of how much a part of our lives THAT was) we have both learned to cook healthful and tasty meals at home. He's better at it than I am, but I sing better than he does, so we each have our niche.
Prayer, always a part of my day, has been getting a lot more of my time, but it's become a lot quieter and less panicked than it used to be. It's more like sitting in the presence of a friend who is so close that words aren't a necesary form of exchange anymore. And I've realized how much I have and how little I need to get by.
I desperately miss many people, particularly my children, and I cannot wait for the first hug. There will be tears and tissues. We've been in touch via the internet, but it's not the same. No need to tell you that. We've all been through that. And I'm surprised at the people I have not missed at all. My patience for willful ignorance has sunk to zero and I refuse to waste my time trying to convince others of my point of view if they want to get all their information from Facebook and Fox. My filters seem to have been a victim of the pandemic. I say what I want how I want and if you don't like it you don't have to listen. Actually, now that I think of it, this, I suspect, is a function of being over 65 rather than a symptom of the pandemic.
I have done more reading and thinking about racial injustice than I have in my life. The conversations are often uncomfortable and I feel completely inadequate to the task. My privilige is obvious even to me. Yet I will make peace with "squirming" until my heart grows large enough and brave enough to shine a bright light into the dark corners that exist somewhere inside me because of the world in which I grew up. And I will learn to listen. I've already learned to care. And to hope in a kinder, more welcoming world for everyone, regardless of race, sexual orientation or identity, or even (God help me) political perspective.
Above all, I have realized how important it is to be kind and how many people put no value on it at all. It's so easy, and the returns are so satisfying. We are all so fragile these days in many ways (although we've become much stronger in other ways). We all need some gentle words and some indication that we are not alone. That someone is watching and caring what happens to us.
So it hasn't been a total bust for me. We've lost a few relatives, but I've also been thinking quite a bit about death and have come to the conclusion that it's a part of life and I'm not afraid of it. It just is. Again, I've been embarrassingly lucky through no virtue of my own, and I know that. I am not the person I was one year ago. Some aspects of myself have been stripped away, and others have grown a life of their own. As we get ready to emerge from our collective cocoons I'm hoping for butterfly wings and a gratitude that does not forget the lessons learned. And I'll still wear my mask for the foreseeable future. It shows love for other people. And it hides the wrinkles.
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