My first conscious thoughts after waking up were invariably centered around trying to visualize my calendar page for the day, figuring out when I need to leave home. In these Covid days, that is replaced with a dread-hate towards the Orange-one and a piece of the Depression that is blanketing the globe.
The chickadees, mocking-birds, woodpeckers, crows, robins, wagtails, hummingbirds, hawks, ducks, and Canada geese, are louder and bolder in Spring glory. I am grateful to see and hear more of them.
My adult children have moved back home – one to continue studying from home and protect me from grocery shopping, and the other who has locked himself in to study for an exam. Their energy crowds me in positive and irritating ways. Too much to sort through in the fridge (which I remind myself is a privilege) and gratitude to have them at home because life is uncertain.
I find myself thinking more often about my patients, and those wafting thoughts linger. I allow myself that luxury. Being less frantic has filtered into more restfulness. I tell myself that my patients will feel it too.
I am grateful for all that I do have in the world – food on the table, a family that is loving and kind, fortunate friendships and lucky in health and ability. I am more in touch with all the gratitude I feel and the inner softness it brings.
This is not to say that it is all unfolding in graceful slow-motion. There are days when I have a lump in my throat that threatens to spill over into the family, and I am careful to keep it in check so I can model patience to my children who complain or sigh depending on their frustration levels.
One day last week when the afore-mentioned lump in throat was getting larger, it grew so large it threatened to burst. Inconveniently, in the middle of the morning. I rushed out to the car, leaving my phone at home, drove myself to the deserted library parking lot, and noticed 4 other cars all politely distanced, facing out towards the cherry orchards. I did the same, kept the windows up and started sobbing uncontrollably. No lady-like tissues dabbing the eyes here. Just great howling, wracking, loud, wretched sobbing that went on for who-knows-how-long. I wept and wept more, not knowing why or caring why. I wept for all the injustice in the world, all the children separated from their parents, all my friends who were dealing with stuff that I could not hug away, all the sentient animals that are mistreated, and all the people who are cruel and traumatized. Or maybe I just wept because it was a physiological need and stress hormones had built up in spite of walking and exercising them out. When I was all wept-out, I honked into the tissues I had in the car, put my glasses back on and sat up from slumping over the wheel.
Okay, I told myself, that is taken care of, and I can go on. I looked around as I started to back out, noticing the parking lot was empty. Except for one other car – a sheriff’s car carefully parked behind a row of trees. So, I am back to being in the gratitude mode again. I am aware of my blessings, aware that I posed no threat to anyone, safely alone in my car, grateful for whoever kindly called the sheriff, for the sheriff who did not approach the car, who let me cry in peace and privacy.
So, that is where I am in this cycle of our new lives. Whether there will be more trips to deserted parking lots or I settle into a new, slower, meditative life, I am beginning to accept a new normal.
