I really should write on the good days.
They do exist.
They are the days that are filled with the smell of baking bread and the feel of dirt under my fingernails from digging in the garden and grass clippings stuck to the hem of my yoga pants and a good movie and a cuddle with my Jay. Or they are days with dedicated space to creating and dreaming and strategizing new and different ways to improve our programs and impact on those we are serving. Or they are days where everyone collaborates in the meetings and it feels like finally we may have gotten over the hump of ‘new boss’ and realized we’re all in this together, longing to make the world a little bit better today and tomorrow and every day that is yet to come. Or maybe they are days that aren’t that magical, but end with an online happy hour where I feel seen and heard and understood and not quite so desperately lonely.
Those are the good days. And there are many.
And today is not one of them.
Today I woke up feeling the anxiety and the panic that comes with an exponential increase in cases yesterday and the searing knowledge within that travel in 2020 is effectively finished. My sister made a comment on something I posted about the fact that science has become political and while I knew that, for some reason those words this morning sent me into a spiral of grief for the America I was once proud to call my home. I’m wondering how long we will be without Volunteers and if we’ll get them back at all and what that means for my job that has been and still is my dream job. I worry about my family and friends and humanity, as this drags on and the clinically-careful attention to prevention starts to wane as restlessness and frustration begin to take over. I watch from the sidelines as others refuse to collaborate and argue about minutia. And then I spent what felt like hours on the phone with the IRS, who is holding my 2018 return hostage, only to find out they are entirely dependent on the US Postal Service and there’s nothing I can do, no alternatives to be found, no electronic options, I have to just wait and wait for the letter to be delivered and then wait another few months for the next letter to be delivered while at the same time our dear President thinks the USPS should be to be defunded entirely. It’s ludicrous.
I want hugs, and in-person meetings, and happy hours with friends, and a trip to the grocery store or the mall without anxiety, and a travel schedule, and a week at the cabin, and a trip to the beach, and my 2018 tax return, and Volunteers, even the ones that drive me batty.
And now that I’ve had my mini temper tantrum of I want I want, I’ll brush myself off, feed myself something healthy, and get on with my day. Because none of this is how it is supposed to be, and I keep telling myself it’s okay to grieve and rage and cry and all the things… as long as I don’t stay there.
Here’s some photos that make me smile:
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| Baguettes made at home. I didn't get the really crunchy crust I was looking for but I'll try again. |
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| My soulmate. |
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| Signs of winter. Most leaves don't change color, they just dry up and fall. |
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| A little friend on my passion fruit vine |
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| Another baking adventure, they turned out amazing. |
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| After our morning walk we will sit on the patio, me with my coffee, and he will fall asleep... this is his face when I say his name, I imagine he's thinking "what you want, woman? I sleepin' here...." |
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