Everything in its time.

Everyone is so ready for the pandemic to be over. I’m not an exception to that rule, but am one of those folks for whom it is NOT over yet. I’ve been struggling with a huge sense of frustration and sadness over feeling left behind. The CDC guidance for people like me is basically, “We recommend you stay home and continue to wear a mask because the rest of us are tired of this and are ready to get on with our lives, and caring about YOUR life isn’t benefitting the economy.”

And I’ll be honest, that just stinks.

I live with a collection of co-morbidities. I am high risk and chronically ill.  It's not living in fear at all, but I am under no illusions about my covid risk. When it comes to assessing that risk, I’m probably the best informed person in my family. I have to be. I’m just trying to survive here.  It has been 2 very long years. 

Even as I find myself protecting my mental health by removing things like TikTok from my phone and limiting my time on Twitter, I find myself really wanting more real connection. I treasure little things like my friend Libby’s snail mail Letters From The Hedge, the emails from my friend Renee and the writing groups I've done with her sporadically in the last few years. I really like Effy's blog. 

I think I'm going to try to remember to blog more, even if it's not like the early oughts when blogging was in its heyday. It's a piece of connection I've missed. 

There’s a group of tea friends I’ve been regularly emailing privately with, back and forth since this pandemic began. Well. we've been emailing each other about tea and life for the last 25 years or so actually. They’ve become a lifeline of sorts, we ebb and flow and come in and out of our group depending on what's happening with our individual lives, but the connection is always there. The little pieces get shared and there is comfort in knowing that there are other people at the other end who care enough to read them.

Libby talks about her letters being connection, of our connections being little points of light in the dark that keep us going, and I think she’s right. And rather like the beacons of Gondor - which is one of THE best scenes in cinematic history, I will fight about this point - it helps to kindle a little of my own light, against the dark. 

So here is a thing. My crocuses and daffodils have started blooming. I planted them late so they are coming up a bit after they were originally expected, but no less welcome for all of that. It's been a good lesson for me of things happening in their own time.