For the first time since vacation planning in March, I was grateful rather than resentful we weren’t vacationing in Europe.
Parties, gatherings, travel, theme park visits, celebrations, but most of all time spent face-to-face with those I love were all the things I longed for during the pandemic.
My ride was not unique. It wasn’t surprising. It wasn’t fun. It was basically like me–comfortable, stable, and safe. No surprises. Reliable. Always there, waiting to be needed.
I’d rather place my bets on the medical community being right than thinking a wild virus that’s killed over half a million Americans is perfectly survivable.
Even in my postpartum-addled state, I recognize I’m singing my baby daughter a love song. . . . Yet the words have never seemed more true.
Let’s take some of our free time to play at doubting what we are naturally inclined to believe, and believing what we are naturally inclined to doubt. I guarantee that if nothing else, it will help us better argue for what we believe, and against what we doubt, with more reason and passion.
If I’m not serving, who am I? If I’m not helping others, why am I here?
While most people think about food this time of year, I contemplate the end of the world.
In short, we need to take care of each other . . . . Sometimes it feels as if, when we can’t do the things we normally do for ourselves or others, we shouldn’t do anything at all. But these days, a text or a phone call can go a really long way. So don’t wait.
Here’s the thing, Mom. You’ve been living on catastrophe island. But it’s uninhabitable. It’s not conducive to life. It’s time for you to get off the island.