It's not a small world after all
When the time is right, we’ll know what to do. (Image by Myriams-Fotos)
There’s a sameness to these days, and I can’t remember what they were like before.
I put on my slippers and comfy clothes and shuffle downstairs in the darkness of my little house, turning up the heat as I go. I write. I eat. I think. I communicate with my team, my clients, my friends and family through various means. I eat some more. I write some more. At some point, I go for a walk outside. That’s the day.
There are moments of joy and satisfaction. Moments of connection. Moments of frustration, sorrow, and mirth. It adds up to a life.
From this vantage point, it’s difficult to think about how things will change and where things could go. What am I missing? I feel a pang of longing when I see a picture of a little niece, nephew or cousin. When I see the weather forecast for Georgia, my second home. When I remember playing tennis.
Wait, but playing tennis is something I can actually do right now. I guess I forgot, in the midst of my limited life. I need to find some friends and play tennis. And now that the vaccine will be available next week in my state (they just changed it yesterday), I might even be able to see those little relatives and even travel to Georgia. My world is opening back up. But it doesn’t feel real.
Post college, I went to volunteer at Bosch Bahá’í School in the mountains outside of Santa Cruz, California. I had a few articles of clothing, a guitar, and that’s pretty much it. I had no space of my own except for a bunk bed in a room I shared with several women. It was a very happy time. I stopped wanting things.
In a way, that’s how I feel now. Out of necessity, I have reached a level of contentment with my boring existence. I anticipate that waking up to additional possibilities and desires will be uncomfortable or even a little painful, like waking up a sleeping limb. The pins and needles are coming.
The truth is, I have come to enjoy the simplicity of my days. By narrowing my focus and reducing my expectations, I have been able to accept the grief and loss this pandemic has brought. I’ve grown accustomed to what is, and I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about what could have been. That has made this year tolerable.
With the promise of vaccination on the horizon, it’s time to begin thinking of what could be. There’s still a lot that I can’t have and a lot of places I can’t go. However, as spring comes to New England and pandemic life recedes, my choices are expanding. What will it look like for me? It’s overwhelming to think about being able to go places and do things.
After a year of wearing the same clothes, paradoxically, I don’t want to want more. The consistency of my daily routine is comforting—I don’t want to disrupt it with travel. And I feel so exhausted all the time that it’s hard to imagine having the energy to see people socially.
However, I know that these feelings won’t last. It won’t take long to get back into a cycle of fresh desires and ideas and energy to pursue them. Pretty soon, it will be hard to remember what it was like to stay home so much—and hard to imagine how we ever could have tolerated it for so many months.
Before long, hugging will be normal again. Crowds will be familiar, and sitting in restaurants and coffeeshops will be commonplace. Things will be more fun and more complicated.
It still feels out of reach, but I know I will be able to handle it when the time comes. I can rely on the same resilience that has gotten me through the pandemic so far. The end of the pandemic presents an opportunity for growth and change, and that, not stasis, is what life is really about.
