I spent the first three weeks of sheltering in place in Los Angeles. I was far away from all of the things that created me, the things that still silently dwell deep within my soul. As the severity of this disaster began to settle on me, the emotional weight suddenly felt crushing. I found myself craving the comfort and safety of a lifetime of familiarity. I felt myself being called back to the people and places of my home in Georgia. This is when I donned a mask, packed a carry-on bag with hand sanitizer and disinfecting wipes, and I boarded an empty plane to take a foolish, yet necessary trip back to where I began.
After traveling, I am now in the middle of a two week quarantine in a remotely located home in the North Georgia mountains. I am doing this to be certain I did not pick up the virus while on my way here. I want to be certain that I am safe before joining my loved ones. This has provided me with more time than is really necessary to ponder all possible futures following the end of this pandemic. I must confess, most of them darken me with their bleakness.
In the midst of this already challenging situation, my place of solitude was hit by an incredibly intense thunderstorm. The storm began yesterday in the early evening with light rain and distant rumblings of thunder. By the wee hours of the morning the storm had become something akin to warfare. The troops tromping through the thick forests of this part of the Appalachians.
The house rocked with the wind, hailstones pelted the roof and the windows. The flashes of lightning were so frequent, the landscape remained illuminated throughout. Loud thunderclaps felt like bombs blasting holes in the surrounding earth. I sat up, eyes wide open, vigilant. Ready to take action if necessary. Not sure what that action might be, but ready just the same. Eventually, the storm moved east, eager to conquer the next locale. My little piece of the world began to grow quiet, and I eventually drifted off into sleep.
I awakened to slivers of sun beaming through the windows and patches of blue skies visible beyond. When I walked out onto the deck, the only reminder that the storm had come through were scattered tree limbs that had fallen, and the downhill trenches created by the rivers of flowing rainwater. The day was brilliant and beautiful. The earth was a little softer from the beating it had taken, but everything else was perfect.
In that moment, the bleakness of all of my imagined futures left me. They left because I realized how much like the storm this virus is. How overwhelming and terrifying it can be because, in the moment, it seems so unpredictable. Also like the storm, it is inevitable that it eventually loses its power and energy. While it's raging, we can only sit up, eyes open, vigilant. Once it finally passes, we can breathe easy and step outside underneath the blue sky. Much like the earth following the storm, I believe we will be softer. I hope we will be softer. I hope the way that we will be changed will be that we are softer. I hope that we have a greater appreciation for simplicity. I hope that we have a new gratitude for ourselves, each other, and this planet that sustains us, and that we will take better care of them all.
The storm always ends. When it does, I look forward to joining you all under the blue sky. I look forward to squishing my feet into the newly softened earth.
After traveling, I am now in the middle of a two week quarantine in a remotely located home in the North Georgia mountains. I am doing this to be certain I did not pick up the virus while on my way here. I want to be certain that I am safe before joining my loved ones. This has provided me with more time than is really necessary to ponder all possible futures following the end of this pandemic. I must confess, most of them darken me with their bleakness.
In the midst of this already challenging situation, my place of solitude was hit by an incredibly intense thunderstorm. The storm began yesterday in the early evening with light rain and distant rumblings of thunder. By the wee hours of the morning the storm had become something akin to warfare. The troops tromping through the thick forests of this part of the Appalachians.
The house rocked with the wind, hailstones pelted the roof and the windows. The flashes of lightning were so frequent, the landscape remained illuminated throughout. Loud thunderclaps felt like bombs blasting holes in the surrounding earth. I sat up, eyes wide open, vigilant. Ready to take action if necessary. Not sure what that action might be, but ready just the same. Eventually, the storm moved east, eager to conquer the next locale. My little piece of the world began to grow quiet, and I eventually drifted off into sleep.
I awakened to slivers of sun beaming through the windows and patches of blue skies visible beyond. When I walked out onto the deck, the only reminder that the storm had come through were scattered tree limbs that had fallen, and the downhill trenches created by the rivers of flowing rainwater. The day was brilliant and beautiful. The earth was a little softer from the beating it had taken, but everything else was perfect.
In that moment, the bleakness of all of my imagined futures left me. They left because I realized how much like the storm this virus is. How overwhelming and terrifying it can be because, in the moment, it seems so unpredictable. Also like the storm, it is inevitable that it eventually loses its power and energy. While it's raging, we can only sit up, eyes open, vigilant. Once it finally passes, we can breathe easy and step outside underneath the blue sky. Much like the earth following the storm, I believe we will be softer. I hope we will be softer. I hope the way that we will be changed will be that we are softer. I hope that we have a greater appreciation for simplicity. I hope that we have a new gratitude for ourselves, each other, and this planet that sustains us, and that we will take better care of them all.
The storm always ends. When it does, I look forward to joining you all under the blue sky. I look forward to squishing my feet into the newly softened earth.