Day 68

Thumbs up to the person walking past who gave me a thumbs up. Head nod. To the person who nodded, a slight movement. A recognition. I see you. I saw them too. Walking through the park, wearing sunglasses and a mask, we all must take extra care to see each other. Wave. Nod. Thumbs up. This is our new reality. Today, for the first time, that reality feels less scary and more kind. We are in this together. Walking. Breathing fresh air through masks that cover most of our faces. Sunglasses that cover the rest.

I feel less frantic today. In this moment. As I peck out these words on my phone. Sitting on a bench in the park. Set back from the road that I walk on. Beside a river that is gently rolling by. Even with music playing straight to my ears from my phone I can hear the bubbling. It’s a near perfect day, masks not withstanding. I did a restorative yoga class at lunch time earlier, and restore it did. I literally felt more balanced and renewed after 50 minutes on my yoga mat. Stepping away, I remind myself now in my post-yoga, mid-walk moment, isn’t just important. It’s crucial.

The world is beginning to open up. It’s scary. I’m cautious. I’m not rushing anywhere soon. But I might start paying closer attention again to the news during the next few weeks, as Massachusetts immerses itself in Phase 1. Our summer as a family will be spent much the same way we have spent the past nearly ten weeks. Together. Crowded onto the couch. Laughing. Sometimes annoying each other. Sometimes retreating to our separate corners or benches. Coming back together at dinner time. As I sit here I realize that I could do this for another ten weeks. I don’t want to. And I’m sure there are more emotions yet to feel, but ten more weeks living safely and spending time with my family does not feel like a sacrifice. The list of things I miss and the specifically summertime things that I know I will miss is long. And painful. But right now it feels doable.

Day 69

Yesterday, after I got back from my time away from the house during which I typed the previous three paragraphs on my phone, I didn’t have a chance to finish the day’s thoughts and hit publish. Now it’s more than 24 hours later. Nothing’s changed, really. Except that when I’m writing the minutiae, everything changes because each moment is different. As I sit here tonight, from my usual spot of my bed, I feel like I lost the momentum of that time walking and sitting by the river. It was peaceful. I feel now that if I had kept writing I would have gotten somewhere.

That is the smoke and mirrors of words on the page.

I could have continued, merging two days into one post. I could have added the time I spent today on the deck, not doing yoga but transcribing notes. Or the black beans my daughter made herself for lunch, because she “felt like beans.” But today is day 69, not day 68. And so here I am, blundering my way to the end.

The news now is more about states opening and less about devastation. The devastation is there, and it will be front and center again, that seems certain, but today’s news is more about what’s open and what to expect. More outdoor dining, for instance. Colleges declaring they will bring back students in the fall. It doesn’t make any sense to me to read these stories closely, even though just yesterday I thought I might pay closer attention. They are interesting, but I feel so deeply that we are living in such unknown that they are more theories than news stories. As we’ve seen over the past ten weeks, life can look very different from one day to the next. This virus can come out of nowhere even as you think you are taking the best precautions.

• People are still dying.

• 93,439 in the United States.

• Two months ago, on March 21, there were 260 deaths in the U.S.

• 1,518 people died in this country today. 82 of those were in Massachusetts.

No one gave me a thumbs up or a head nod today on my walk. Maybe because I was talking on the phone the whole time, which doesn’t look like talking on the phone with wireless ear buds and a mask on, my actual phone in my back pocket. I was talking with a friend. It had been too long. And that’s one thing I hope I take from this time, that I can make time to keep in touch with friends. One of the the things I said to my friend today was that I am very good at taking care of other people and not particularly good at caring for myself. Taking the time to talk, to walk, to write … all of these things are for me. And together, with moments looking at a moving river rolling over rocks, or of returning from my walk to all three kids playing basketball together in the driveway, I gain a shred of calm that stalls the churning of the unknown that sits within my gut and keeps me from falling asleep at night, tension held in my face. Relax, I tell myself now, returning to savasana. To that bench. To the moments of quiet that sat within me yesterday. That are different today but that I can return to.

Stay safe, everyone.