Pandemic – Day 7

The nighttime is the hardest. That is when my child goes to bed and I don’t have her joyful ignorance to anchor me in the present moment. It’s when I read news, and fret. It’s when I try to write. Then I think about the futility of what I’m writing. It’s trite, meaningless. I think about the possibility that there may not be a publishing industry to return to. Or perhaps the world will be more thirsty than ever for books, if we spend so much of our lives socially distant from one another. But my book? Still not my book, surely. It’s too stupid.

I thought that I better write these things down. I thought that might be important.

Everything feels enormous today. It’s unnerving for the entire world to be talking about the same thing. We’re not meant to be that unified, I don’t think. A little diversity of interests, conversation, that’s what made social media a pleasant distraction. Not the hammer on my psyche that it is now.

Even the cool shit that people are making is heavy. The live-streamed concerts, and poetry readings, and creative videos are heavy–no matter how joyful–because of the need from which they spring. We need art more than ever, but my God, I was never prepared for my art to matter that much.

I’m worried that this will change the world beyond recognition or repair.

I’m worried that it won’t, and what the fuck was this all for?

I’m worried that industries will become obsolete. That we’ll slip into a Depression. That most of my friends, and I, will be destitute. I’m worried about finances, okay? It sucks.

I’m worried for my daughter. That our little ship of isolation, her mom and her dad, won’t be enough to keep her stimulated. She was thriving in daycare. She is so social. I’m worried that she won’t get to play with other kids for so long. Too long.

I’m worried about my parents, all of whom are immuno-compromised.

I’m worried that my dreams don’t matter any more.

I’m worried that there are certain people I may never see again.

I’m worried that not enough people will take this seriously and too many people will get sick.

I’m worried for our doctors, nurses, first responders. Everyone out there.

I’m worried we won’t get a general election.

I’m worried that that fucking volcano in Yellowstone is going to erupt.

There it is, a short list. But you know what? I can breathe through all of that, for now. I can take it day by day. What I can’t take are these days. I love my little family. I miss other humans. I took for granted my social spirit. I miss people. I miss you. How long will we last like this? Who will break first? The economy? Our spirits? The fever?

The only way I’ve ever known how to get through anything is to really go through it. Deep into it. So, sorry, I can’t look on the bright side right now. I have to make my way through the deep end. Words have been a trusty tool. Words bring me comfort. Always. So I just keep writing. Writing into the darkest parts of this. Like one day it will matter. If it ever did.






4 thoughts on “Pandemic – Day 7

  1. It’s easy right now to walk down the darkest roads at the end of this crisis. But crisis is a time limited event, based on something that we have not yet experienced so we’re not yet sure how to deal with it.
    Media feeds into these fears, which is difficult because it’s one of the few things we still have access to.
    Fear and anxiety is a result of projecting thoughts. The scenarios we concoct are not reality. We can’t accurately fill in the blanks of the future. And humans are great at creating worse case scenarios in our minds. But thoughts are just thoughts. There is no truth in future thoughts.
    We have now. Time with your loved ones. Time to let go of external influences and be with ourselves. Time for the planet to breath without our interferance.
    Our hopes and dreams have not been cancelled. Love and creativity are the connection we have to the Divine.
    This will pass, we will learn from it and our opportunity to recognize that we are the masters of our thoughts has never been greater. Meditation, yoga or just sitting quietly with a cup of coffee.. whatever quiets the thinking mind. That’s where we really live. That’s the now. And that produces feelings of gratitude, and deep love for humanity.
    We are growing and events like this, though troublesome, open our eyes to the reality that we are not rules or subject to the external. We are eternally connected to the “source” or God that lives within us all.

  2. It’s comforting to hear your experience and I appreciate your rawness, though I understand this is all so painful. It is for me too. I think it’s important to process it all, although it doesn’t feel good, I think that’s the way we grow best. Thank you for your authenticity and for sticking with your craft–it serves even now.

  3. Dear Sister in law, Don’t ever give up. Your life and talents are uplifting, unique, and a beacon, always. This is the time to excel in the quieter things, reflection, story telling, creative activities, journaling, walks, short drives, kindness, charity, new insights, and the simpler things. Our small town library is closed, so it was meant to be.that on a short drive to Empire (old, historic town nearby) I saw a library hutch in front of a home, and got several books. I will replenish and add as soon as I am done. More time for Scott, Bud, and I to be together, watch old movies and documentaries, walk the creek and lake, and call people. Hang in there. You are so very talented and touch the hearts of all you communicate with. Love, Terri.

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