It’s been a minute or two since I’ve written, and it occurred to me that it is finally time to explore the other side of our new “normal.”
Kindling this blog series was cathartic to me, in a time when I had to come to terms with the truth that nothing would ever be as it was. I firmly believe that it never will be again. I hungered to pour my musings onto the (digital) page, and despite feeling exposed, shared them with others, so that they’d feel less alone. I held to my mantra:
“If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.”
I see you, Emily Dickinson.
In the “Time of Corona,” I slid down the valley walls of uncertainty, anxiety, depression, and loss. I grappled and clawed my way to the plateaus, and kept reaching towards the summit of joy, not quite ever experiencing it for more than a few moments. I clung to hope, gossamer hope, fleeting.
Lately, I’ve been replaying Ben Platt’s “Waving Thru A Window” song on the way to work; I know he’s outside the experience looking in; ironically, I related to this when we were quarantined and the world was closed. I watched life go by from indoors, and nobody could hear me. That’s why I started blogging and pen-paling and calling people on the phone. I needed the world again.
When you’re fallin’ in the forest, and there’s nobody around, do you ever really crash or even make a sound?
When you isolate for as long as we did, and open the window again, ever-so-hesitatingly, it’s like you forget what human connection is, and how to behave around others. My daughter and I talked about it this morning, while waiting in a drive thru window—the young clerk spoke, but could not make eye contact or even small talk, while we waited for our food. I’ve always had a knack for being able to talk to a brick wall, and it usually makes me the awkward one, trying to fill silence with noise.
The only problem is, I’m not sure anyone can really hear what I’m saying. They hear me, but do they hear me?
I feel as though we’ve been given choices now, doors we have the chance to select, paths we have yet to take. I do know what I’m hoping to see on the other side of the threshold:
Possibilities. (This is a *big* one)
I’m wishing the same for you, too.
P.S. Welcome to my new series.