I was recently asked three questions about my personal pandemic experience by the community story-tellers at Boonies, found on Instagram and Facebook.
How am I?
I am suddenly, rapidly learning to hold many Big Feels all at once.
Before, when struck by grief, let’s say, or fear, or at opposite times happiness, each Feel could have its own way with me until one faded into the next. But now I’m holding all the Big Feels, all full, all at once, and all crashing into each other.
I weep for those dying and their loved ones left behind. I worry incessantly about our healthcare heroes. I burn for those who must choose between their health and making ends meet, worse when their jobs are under-appreciated and their salaries too low. I rage (again!!) that this pandemic is worst for people of color, those in poverty and others marginalized (like every other catastrophe??!!). I miss my family and friends, my favorite restaurants, my yoga studio .... And I'm really whiny about my hair.
Yet side-by-side with those Big Feels, I laugh on Zoom and talk for hours to loved ones. My heart swells observing countless acts of kindness. I rejoice as so many gravitate toward good leaders and reject the opposite. I am glad so many have quickly and resolutely turned to government for help and realize that we've misunderstood and neglected it far too long. I am optimistic that many more now remember that "government" is us, that government is an excellent way to peacefully and collectively take care of us all. Or not, of course, yet I believe more people are tired of that approach. I suddenly blaze with confidence that the next decade will bring unforeseen progress. And I gaze out my window as winter becomes spring, thunderstruck that never before did I have or take time to witness the birth of a leaf.
I am feeling this all at once, all colliding with the speed and force of unseen molecules. I think those Feels invite us to reimagine everything. I think they mean I'll never be the same.
Do I personally know anyone who's contracted COVID-19?
I finally talked to Maddy, my daughter, toward the end of her February trip to Costa Rica. Day two she texted she was too sick to surf; day three she couldn't walk the beach; day four she couldn't get out of bed. I finally heard her voice day five, and if she had not been flanked by her boyfriend and best friends I would've been on the first available plane with the singular focus of all mothers crazed with fear.
Maddy recovered. And neither she nor any of my family and close friends has been tested for COVID-19; none is sick now. I shout my gratitude with each and every sunrise.
Yet I work with hundreds of people around the country leading mental health and addictions agencies, and many are shepherding those ill and dying from this disease. Even in the best of times their clients suffer way more from diabetes, heart disease, or asthma, and die 25 years sooner than average. Mostly because of poverty, racism, stigma, and lack of good healthcare. So I’m helping all I can.
How am I coping?
I’ve killed countless orchids over the years. Not on purpose; I’ve tried the right sun, ice- cube watering, and scheduled soaking. But inevitably the blossoms would fall, leaving me with endless pots of lonely wide-fanned leaves.
Yet suddenly now, all this time at home doing nothing much besides too much baking and Netflix binging, my orchids are blooming. And like the wildlife returning to Yosemite or the Himalayas suddenly within view, like the love sewn into every face mask and each inconvenience accepted with a smile, like the teacher waving hand-made signs as she drives by her students' homes and the therapist Zooming unwavering care, my orchid buds are a marvel.
With gratitude and wishing you safety and health,
Jeanne
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