Having weathered many storms (gulf coast freezes and hurricanes, midwest blizzards and tornados), I know how to prepare and improvise through a catastrophe. As a city, country and world traveler I thought that during the pandemic, this would be a nice time to regroup. This would be a good time to collect myself.
But I didn't need 12 months to regroup. At first, the puzzles mollified me. A few things got cleaned that needed it. I increased my meditation and study. These were all good. But 12 months? There was no way I was going to stay away from grandkids and kids for 12 months, and they pretty much stayed in the same bubble protocols as we did, so I didn't have to give up visiting.
Now, in the 12th month, I have had some new revelations. I have learned to love the space I am in. I like being in the rooms of my house. That may sound like an obvious thought, but I mean that I actually take time to enjoy a picture or an item, sometimes for its inherent artistry, its source - the aura of its presence adds a color or a memory. I love my yard and gardens. They speak to me; I speak to them. (They really need some encouragement right now.)
This kind of quiet presence in the company of great blessings, I must admit I haven't always held. I'm usually on the clock, or worse yet, a stopwatch for activities.
A pandemic lull has been the place I have really learned to linger. In some fashion, I am at peace in a new way. I don't want to go back to "normal." I want to rest, take in nature and humanity, my own and others. I want to continue some sense of deeper knowing that I didn't have before. My words are slack in telling it, but I want to stay where this pandemic has put me.
I have given much thought to this: Do less so you can be more.