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.
