That’s how I feel about how this year has played out since March. A great pause. A fermata. Holding pattern. Just wait. Stop. Don’t. Not yet. Later. Not sure about that. Have to wait. Later on. Who knows? Should I? Can I? Is it safe? Mask up. Wash up. Give up.
It’s true....things could be worse. SO much worse. I am safe, I am secure, I am home, I am healthy, I am solvent, I am retired, I have conveniences, I am near family and friends, I am healthy, I am comfortable being alone, I am going to be ok.
I can continue to paint, and walk, and listen to my stories and connect with people virtually while I wait.
But I am waiting. Waiting to move about freely and unencumbered. To live with less restrictions and limitations. To be able to travel again. To visit with people. To sing and perform. To plan for the future...and follow through with them. To drink coffee in a cafe and a meal in a restaurant. To go to a movie....oh, God, to go to a movie in a theatre. Love music or a play. To continue my plans for retirement.
To smell the briny ocean and feel the heat of the sun on my face in San Diego. To experience life in London with Wayne and his family. To spend time with Deed and Brenda. To rehearse in Rod’s basement twice a week. To fly. To “road trip”.
To be less obsessed with daily newscasts and Covid updates and being self-isolated and being so mindful of maintaining my mental health and hand washing and masking up.
But next year won’t involve sphincter-slamming inducing attention to Donald Trump and will involve daily increases in vaccinations and warmth and light days and hope.
So let the cliches begin....”light at the end of the tunnel”, “better days ahead”, “beginning of the end”, “thing will get better”, “count your blessings”, “could be worse”, “we’re all in this together”, “round the corner”.
I am choosing to be hopeful in the vaccine, grateful in my fortune and patient in my waiting.
No comments:
Post a Comment