March 23, 2020
Day 11

That feeling when you get through the second page of the online disaster relief loan application from the state’s Small Business Administration, which has been painstaking to fill out not doubt due to high usage, and the “next” button takes you to a blank white screen that reads, “this service is unavailable.”

That feeling when you hear from an old family friend in Zimbabwe that her son’s friend just died of COVID-19, the second recorded death in the country.

That feeling when you wake up with a headache and note that it’s the first heavy day of your period, which was several days late (because perimenopause), and you are relieved to have a headache where you are pretty confident you know the source of it. Also that feeling when you write a sentence that shouldn’t be allowed to be called a sentence but you leave it. Because pandemic.

That feeling when your client forgets your meeting and you are sitting there in front of the Zoom window waiting, watching the snow fall gently outside, knowing that everyone’s lives are upside down and inside out so you aren’t angry, just sad.

That feeling when someone asks if you’ll donate your time to help them with a project, and you have to weigh out the desire to be of service against the desire not to overextend yourself, but in the end you know you will say yes. Because pandemic.

That feeling when you are writing but not really, and the day is slipping away and snow is falling and you are compulsively checking the news even though you know better and maybe you should just start making dinner even though it’s only 3:08pm.

That feeling when you have to make decisions about upcoming retreats and you know in your heart what the decision is but can’t bring yourself to do it, not just yet. And at the same time, some other part of you is whispering to you to remember not to go into all-or-nothing thinking, and you know you will eventually tap back into a creative vein that allows you to create alternatives to gathering in person. But still, the pool! The ocean!

That feeling when you go to see what your kids are doing, and one pauses from knitting a hat and Facetiming with a friend to tell you he is going to clean his room later and the other is on the phone, talking to her girlfriend as she watches the snow that is starting to come down harder.

That feeling when you call your mom at night and she has had a hard day and you’re so glad you checked in, and then she puts your dad on and the dog hears his voice and goes crazy, staring at the door as if he might walk through it any minute.

That feeling when your wife and your mom begin an email exchange that none of you could have imagined all those years ago when they first met and none of us knew how to be with the newness.

That feeling when a complete stranger tosses $5 into your virtual tip jar with well wishes, and the kindness and generosity of strangers makes your heart open even wider, helping to offset the disbelief that there are still so many people who don’t think this is “their” problem.

That feeling when clients are scrambling to adjust their lives to this reality and everyone’s needs and schedules are changing by the hour and the only thing to do is respond with flexibility. And also that feeling when you remember that you still get to have boundaries, even in a pandemic.

That feeling when sitting home never felt so socially responsible.

That feeling when doing nothing is truly the biggest something.

That feeling when your rabbi says something about how our spiritual health is always underscored by the physical. These bodies where we live never felt more precious.

That feeling when you read about a refugee camp in Greece and you openly weep. Because pandemic + inhumanely crowded and unhygienic conditions = disaster.

That feeling when a song called “All is Well” comes on your playlist and you want to believe it and yet all is not well, not well at all. So you remind yourself that more than one thing can be true at the same time and give thanks for the “all” and the “well” that are here and for the rest, you pray.

That feeling when you are cranky in the morning (because broken sleep + pandemic + anxiety + period + dishes) and after a few minutes you go to wrap your arms around your wife’s neck and ask if there can be a do-over and she leans her head against your chest and you are grateful for grace.

That feeling when the accountant calls and it’s better news than you expected and you think back to the awful tax thing last year and how it led to growth even though you kicked and screamed a lot.

That feeling when everything you ever kind of knew – that we don’t know what the future holds, that we have so little control, that nothing is permanent – loses the “kind of” and the knowing comes fast and hard like labor, and you wonder what all of this will deliver us into.

That feeling when you realize if you can’t go of being hard on yourself now, you might never do it. So you do. You let it all go. The chips will fall and you can’t try to catch them all, you can’t count them all, you can only count on something bigger to carry you through this and you can count on the kindness of a million strangers and you can clean the floor where the coffee spilled and you can cry anytime you need to and you can do this. You can do this.

We can do this.

p.s. Have a read: "Journaling during the pandemic, for yourself and the historians"

p.p.s. Need help getting started? Set a timer for 10 minutes and tell us about that feeling when... write without stopping until the timer goes off. Come share your words on Facebook or Instagram with the hashtag #dispatchesfromdailylife. Be sure to tag me. And you are always welcome to email me your writing, too.

If you are able and inclined to contribute any amount, your support will allow me to keep doing what I do and keep the pantry stocked.

Daily Dispatches: Day 11