Mask On, Eyes Open Wide

Trying to get out before all the others, I took an early walk this morning. Very few people were out, but the only other two women I saw reached a narrow bridge at the same time I did. I veered off on a dirt path that followed the creek more closely. I hadn't gone that way before and opened my eyes wide, turned my head this way and that, soaking in the new view of my backyard.

There was still frost on the ground on this quiet side of the creek.

This is how it's going to be for the foreseeable future. This social distancing. All people aren't complying and so this will go on longer. I will not be able to return to Wisconsin to help my parents with their health needs; it's too risky that I'm an asymptomatic carrier. School will continue to be online for the rest of the year. No high fives and reading my students' faces. (No weighing whether or not they're crossing the naughty line enough that I need to intervene either. That I do not miss.) I won't go to stores or restaurants or enjoy in-person happy hours with friends.

But I will go to the quiet side of the creek. I will live a deeper inner life. I will reflect and write and read. I will pick up my guitar. I will try to create beautiful things. I will try to grow and understand.

I heard an invitation this morning. It's an invitation to the quiet side of life. To step out of the hustle-bustle, hurly-burly rat race. To step back from the noise of politics and other people's decisions and to live deeply in my sphere of control. I heard the invitation.

RSVP: Yes.

Thin Slivers

I am grasping at the thin slivers of hope. The sidewalk chalk messages that someone scrawled on the bike path, "Be happy," something with "Love," and of course, "Wash your hands."

It is hard these days to stay positive. It is easy to be overwhelmed and anxious. It is easy to trip down the rabbit-hole of worry. Worry about my mom's health problems, worry about my students, worry about how sick this thing is making people, worry about the groceries I can't get...

But then I get on the bike path and see that people are good, they are coming together (figuratively!!!) to give inspiration and thin slivers of hope to each other. With each pedal stroke, more of my anxiety dissipates. I see people taking the social distancing seriously - moving into single file to allow 6 feet for my biking partner and me to pass. A sliver of hope. An appreciation of humanity. A student of mine finally got internet today, day 2 of week 2 of online learning. A buoy.

We can do this. We can get through this. One sliver of hope at a time.