reflecting

(What follows is an organic sharing of my thoughts about the situation we find ourselves in the world today. It might be sad or bleak, so please take care and only read on knowing that.) 

March 30/20: Like many others out there, I just started my third week of self-isolating. The last time I went anywhere, other than to pick up groceries, was (believe it or not) Friday the 13th. That day I had an oil change, and picked up a grocery order. When I got home, I contacted my family and said I was self-isolating because I didn't want to take any chances. I'd been out and about, and teaching in my studio, and who knew if I had come into contact with someone without symptoms who was contagious. To be on the safe side, I also made the decision to close my teaching studio for two weeks.

I naively thought we'd be through the worst of things by the beginning of April. On March 13th, there were less than 150 cases in all of Canada. (Seventeen days later, March 30th, it's 7,437.) On March 13th, anyone I knew seemed to be okay. Seven days later, the brother of an old friend I'd known since I was twenty-one called to say my friend had passed away from Covid-19. I begin to see that this is not going to end anytime soon, and that the losses will grow. It's heartbreaking to think of those all over the world affected by this.

I try to stay away from the news, allowing myself 15 minutes in the morning. At first I turned to Facebook, a place I seldom go, and now I am backing away from it again. There are some wonderful groups posting excellent information and demonstrating a spirit of positivity and encouragement. I love that. There are also those posting misinformation, making racist comments, being hateful. Still, I'm anything but 'isolated' in terms of being social. I've spoken to friends in Europe, the States, and here at home. I have regular facetime appointments in my calendar. I'm finding groups that meet virtually to discuss things I'm interested in.

I keep busy during the day, although I sometimes feel scattered. And tired. When I lay down to sleep, my mind runs ragged with the anxiety I keep sequestered during the day. I watch children's shows and Jane Austin movies, and try to avoid anything suspenseful or violent.

I try to eat healthy and stay hydrated. I probably don't go outside the house enough. Every surface I come into contact with outside the house... the door handle, the lock on the gate... I'm extra aware of the things I touch. I get into my car to go get my grocery order, and I marvel at how itchy my face feels when I keep reminding myself not to touch it. I keep a box of kleenex on my front seat, so if I am desperate I can grab a couple and rub my face. I try to be conscious of where my hands are. And when I come home... I wash my hands. And wash my groceries. And wash my hands.

I leave things that don't need to be refrigerated in a box for four days before I touch them. Or, if I need them, I go through the ritual of opening them, washing my hands, reaching inside the container or bag to remove the contents without touching the external wrapping, putting whatever I don't need in a new freezer bag or other clean container so I know it's ok to touch. Then I toss the wrapping away and wash my hands again. Like a doctor scrubbing up for surgery. Then I contemplate the things the store was out of, and wonder how I will manage.

I prefer to eat non-processed, fresh food as much as possible. They were out of potatoes, oranges, bananas, bathroom tissue, unsalted butter. But thankfully they had tea, juice, tuna, eggs, cheese. But no potatoes? How is that even possible?

It all just brings home how much things have changed.

That popping out to my favourite cafe to have coffee and read the paper, is impossible. I wonder if they will be able to survive. I see my favourite restaurant - where most of the servers know my face and know my usual order - at first switches to take out/delivery, but then announces they need to close. They'll do renovations during the shutdown, they say. I think of the kindness of their staff, and their wonderful cooks, and hope they will make it through. I recall my beautiful-spirited massage therapist, whose work is so vital to my quality of life (she literally helped me to walk again), knowing that, like me, she's had to close down her business until we are all allowed to breathe the same air and open our arms to others for a hug.

It occurs to me, I'm missing spring. The cherry blossoms are heavy on the trees this time of year. The rufus hummingbirds will be back soon. I have to get over my fear and go sit in the garden. Bask in the weak rays of the sun. Remember not to touch my face, and wash my hands when I come back inside.

Most of all, I try not to think of what might happen next.

I'll do everything I can do to follow the advice of the medical professionals. I'll try to retool my business to work online. I'll try to be supportive of friends and family. I'll try to forget my own worries and listen to those of others, and find things to say that might bring a smile. I'll try to write music and keep singing and drawing and painting.

I'm staying home to protect my friends and family. To protect my community. To protect our precious health care workers. To save any life I can save by doing what I'm asked to do: stay home. And by doing that, perhaps I will also save my own. <3