Dark times, friends.
The start of the year felt rough for me. There was a great private tragedy in my family. A good friend was repeatedly snubbing me. Then there was that super fun car accident I was in. It was cold and dark, in the world and in my head.
And then this. Now this.
The world has come to a screeching halt. Many of my friends are out of work or underemployed, making paying the bills an impossibility. There are shortages everywhere, of everything: food, toilet paper, decency. We are long on fear and despair.
The first play I’ve ever written has had to be canceled for now, postponed if we’re feeling optimistic. The first citywide meeting of PAAL here in DFW has been tabled for an indefinite time. Even a smallish vacation I was gonna take is now gone. (Though vacations are not the most important thing, I know.)
I was on a call with two of my best friends last night, and we were lamenting the loss of so much: income, opportunity, connection. And then one mentioned it had been so long since we’d done this, made time for a FaceTime date with each other. Now we could. We can.
The night before that, a group of my friends planned + organized a conference call to watch a terrible movie + drink wine + have snacks together. It was glitchy + noisy + weird + WONDERFUL.
I’ve taken walks with my dog and my kids every morning. I’m now playing teacher + counselor + lunch lady + gym coach + music instructor + IT expert, in addition to wife + mom + writer + performer + human without titles. I am a human doing, trying to be a human being.
The sad stuff is sticking around: my family’s unfolding drama, my friend’s quiet rejection, my play’s delay. The world’s sickness. When I try to look at all of it at once…
Well. Like CS Lewis reminded us, “Reality, when looked at steadily, is unbearable.”
But then my youngest asks me to sing as she practices a new guitar chord. My husband fires up the grill + cooks something delicious for our family. My oldest writes me a note about her worries, and they are small + pedestrian + also everything.
I can still write + sing + make homemade cookies + take a hot bath. I can find solace in the breath of quiet moments.
I hope you can, too.