March 21, 2020
Day 9

Neither of us slept well last night. Sweaty, restless, dreamy, broken sleep. I got up with Chalupa around 6:30am. Took her out to pee, gave her breakfast and CBD, and poured my coffee. (You can see we are creatures of morning routine around here.)

I left for a run at 8:00, and not 10 minutes later, tripped on the sidewalk at the edge of the Amherst College campus. I was listening to a Spotify playlist called Roots Revival. A song called “I Wish I Was the Moon” by Neko Case was playing as I fell. I came so close to catching myself, but it was too late – my body had propelled just far enough in front of my feet that the space between was just too big to make up; I landed on palms and knees and crouched there for a full minute, hands in something like prayer position as tears welled in my eyes.

There were a few cars at the red light and it occurred to me that someone might wonder if I was ok. Thankfully, I was – no actual injuries. But as I stood up slowly, adrenaline still coursing through my body, I suddenly realized just how adrenalized I’ve been for the past week as we’ve adjusted to this surreal new reality of living with and through a global pandemic. Like so many people, I’ve been following the news closely, alternating between channels of rage at the selfishness and ineptitude of our highest levels of government, overwhelming emotion at the poignancy of our interconnectedness and expressions of collective care, anxiety about what’s unfolding and the vast uncertainty of it all, and practical matters of tending to my own household, work, and family.

Falling somehow gave me the go-ahead to feel all of it, to recognize my body’s clear message: Slow down. Way, way, way down. Feel this. Make room.

To say it’s a lot is an understatement. So I let the tears startled free fall. I decided to do a short Facebook live video, and reaching out in that moment felt like being held. If ever there was a time when we needed to see each other’s faces, hear each other’s voice, and share the stories of everyday life, this would be it. As I said to my friend Omkari on the phone today, now is the time. All the contemplative and creative practices, all the skills we’ve developed – now is the time. There is no other.

After I got home – I did end up resuming my run – I examined my knees; the right one is fine, the left bore the brunt of my weight and has a small gash. An extra-long shower felt like a miracle, and I carefully cleaned the wound with soapy hot water, only reluctantly exiting the small bathroom to get dressed afterwards. I made a second cup of coffee, got out my tallit, then logged onto Zoom for Shabbat morning services. Praying in my living room in the company of our rabbi and dozens of fellow congregants, another miracle, our connection intensified by the physical distance.

Services ended right about noon, at which point I decided to scrub under the stove burners, where something had spilled and congealed and was stinking up the house every time we cooked. Next, I put the chairs upside on the table, swept, and mopped the floor, which looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in weeks. It was satisfying work, this hands-on cleaning. I opened a window to let in the cool, early spring air.

Kids wandered in and out. I’m amazed at their maturity and self-sufficiency. I remind them that I’m here – they know, I know they do – if they want to talk or hang out. But I am also just letting them be. I asked Pearl yesterday if he’d want to create some semblance of schedule, if only for the school-related part of his days, and he said no, he’ll just do what he needs to do. Aviva has been turning to art-making. My heart hurts for them, and I am also filled with gratitude that they “get it.”

Checked in with my mom; my parents live half a mile from us but we’re not seeing them until we’ve all been self-quarantined for a couple of weeks. My mom asked if anyone would want to send a daily email with a little something about our day, and Mani and I have both been writing to her each night before bed. It’s a sweet exchange that wouldn’t be happening under other, more usual circumstances.

Finally around 3:00pm, I got ready to head to Whole Foods. The last time I shopped was nine days ago. Fresh produce was the driving reason for shopping, and after some debate about which is safer – delivery or going to the store – we settled on the latter for now. I felt vaguely like I was going into battle as I grabbed a couple of nitrile gloves from our bathroom.

Shopping was stressful. I tried to stay six feet away from people, but it wasn’t always possible. You could tell some folks were being extra mindful, others not so much. Flour and fresh ginger were the two things on our list I couldn’t find, and I could not believe how much food there was in my cart as I waited my turn in the highly controlled line. I was glad to see some system in place for spacing people out, but also felt for the employees who have no choice but to be at work, exposed to who knows how many people who could be asymptomatic carriers of the virus.

I wish the whole country would go on lockdown. I wish hospitals had the supplies they need. Wishes won’t make it so, so we are doing our part.

“Now more than ever.” I mentioned in the Truth + Beauty Group yesterday, as I invited members to share a photo of something beautiful from their world, that I will probably be overusing that expression for some time to come. Now more than ever, we all need to do our part. Now more than ever, we need to listen to our bodies. Now more than ever, we need to be patient and gentle with each other. Now more than ever, we need to give ourselves spaces where we can feel feelings and record experiences.

That’s why I’m keeping these notes. It may not be the most inspired writing, but it is immediate and true, and right now that feels somehow vital. A way of witnessing these days, which to me implies a kind of hopefulness. After all, witnessing suggests that there will be a time after, when we will look back, when we will tell the stories of this time, when we will see what we learned and what we failed to learn.

And so I come here in equal parts for the present moment and some imagined future, one where we see that our old ways are unsustainable and that coming together is truly the only way for us to be well as a world.

Keep the faith, friends.

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 9