Daily Dispatches: Day 12
March 24, 2020
Day 12
“Hi, I’m really struggling today.”
Her text came while I was out walking this morning. Pearl and I did the first mile together, then he came home and I kept going. The text continued to say when she was free and no worries if I wasn’t available, but that she could use my wisdom “if possible.” I wondered for a moment what wisdom I even had to offer, but also knew better. Our presence with each other is wisdom enough. “Are you free now?” I texted back.
As soon as she said yes, I turned off Spotify and called.
This morning, I was available, resourced, able to answer the call from a friend.
This afternoon, after a two-hour nap, I woke feeling stressed. Two clients today have let me know that their spouses have been laid-off and they will have to discontinue our sessions for now. The potential economic reality of things hit me like a gut punch and I leaked some tears. Mani reminded me that we are ok in this moment, which is true and which is also no small thing, no small thing at all. In fact, I paid our rent for April this morning, along with my office rent.
One of the things I talked to my friend about on the phone was that it’s easy to fall into all-or-nothing thinking right now, as it often is in times of uncertainty and change. The loss of control, or at least the illusion of control, leads us to feel like “there is nothing we can do.”
In some ways, this is true. There is nothing I can do about the fact that our federal government continues to place “the economy” above human life. There is nothing I can do about people who are still refusing to stay home or practice social distancing when they’re out. There is nothing I can do about the lack of hospital beds.
But when I heard myself say to my friend, “There is nothing we can do,” I shuddered. I heard the powerlessness in it. And while it may be true about some things, it’s also very much not true about others. In many ways, this moment calls on me – on us – to concentrate our focus on the micro. In fact, this chart illustrating the impact of sheltering-in-place in the Bay Area underscores the power each of us has to contribute to slowing the spread of this virus.
It is very, very difficult to be this angry and frightened while still trying to work, parent, and take care of our own immunity and nervous systems. I keep thinking of WWII. In 1939 or 1941 or 1943, people didn’t know how long it would last or what would happen next. Right now, we have to turn all of our energy and resources towards care – care for ourselves, our families, our communities.
What does this actually look like? It looks micro. It has to. Day to day, hour to hour even. Tuning way, way in.
I’ve been thinking a lot since yesterday about shock and about grief. How you can be going along feeling like you’re actually handling all of this pretty damn well, when bam! You are hit with a wave of fear or loss that you didn’t see coming. There has to be room for these waves. We can’t pretend they’re not coming, one after another.
When my friend was down, I happened to be in a moment when I could offer some space. Later in the day, when I was feeling down, I received $25 on PayPal from a long-time writing group beloved, with the kindest note ever. Her words reminded me that I am held, too. We are here creating this invisible web of catching each other. I hope we remember that as things continue to change, for better and for worse.
We’re watching the numbers rise here in Massachusetts. Just as was true in Italy, the jumps in cases and deaths are exponential from one day to the next. Some days will be better than others.
Tonight, I had a moment of putting pressure on myself to do more – should I be doing a live Facebook writing hour, offering a Zoom session each week when we can gather? The “should” in that question is my little signal, the one that is akin to a yellow light telling me to slow down.
This situation is not going to end quickly. There is time. The reality is that I have a few groups going right now along with a full calendar this week with clients, and I need to make sure I’m caring for myself so that I can really show up for the people I’m already working with. There will be plenty of time to create new offerings. Take it easy, mama, I tell myself, just as I have been telling myself for years and years. Now is no different.
Make room for the fear. Don’t struggle against the struggle. Set a place for disbelief at the table, and give your anger a voice lest it eat you alive from the inside out. The “how” of this is so personal; what helps me move through the hard moments may not be what helps you. But you know what I’m going to say, right?
Write.
Seriously and for real.
Mani started a COVID-19 journal. I’m finding that sitting down to share these dispatches is giving me a way to channel some of the jumble of emotions that get all mashed up together inside of me. If you’re not into journaling or blogging, write a letter every day to someone you love or miss.
There is no underestimating the power of getting the words out, this much I know in my bones.
Keep going. Let all the little things count, because they do.
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.
REFUGE
Take refuge in the fact
that there are people
this morning who walked
into open fields
to feed the goats
and collect the eggs.
Take refuge in the fact
that there are people
this morning who made
love, heeding only the alarm
of bodies needing each other.
Take refuge in the fact
that a poet somewhere
is looking out the window,
mumbling to himself
as angels deliver him
his next lines.
Take refuge in the fact
that there are people
this morning changing
bed pans and scrubbing in.
Take refuge in the fact
that love's frequency
can shatter glass houses
from miles away,
that some people
will never sell their souls
to the devils of commerce,
and that a beggar
turned the petal
into a prayer bead
in your closed fist,
though you didn't
catch his name.