Seven months of uncertainty. Seven months of speculation. Seven months of lock downs, self-isolation and social distancing. Seven months of PPEs, masks and hand sanitizing. Seven months of painting, daily walks and audiobooks. Seven months of waiting. Waiting for life to return to “normal”. It’s looking more and more like that is not going to happen for a good long while. The American election is Tuesday. Uncertainty, civic unrest, political division. The stink of it wafts all over the world and leaves its residue behind. It seeps through the news, through social media, through the limited conversations one has in day to day life. Waiting is mentally exhausting. The unending arrival of “some day”, “soon “ or “later” only highlights it’s absence. I count my blessings, I know my fortunes are many. I am safe. I am healthy. I am secure. I am also waiting. Waiting to make plans. Waiting to have plans. Waiting to follow through on plans. Waiting to anchor my days to “the next” thing. To have a goal. To have something to focus my attention on beyond the routine that has become my daily existence. I long for more purpose. For an interaction or an appointment or a trip. I pray for a vaccine to end this pandemic. I know that nothing lasts forever. I have also never felt this uncertain about the future. I don’t like this feeling.
