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I was talking about the pandemic to a friend of mine who is a sculptor. I’m not sure we called it the “pandemic” but why not.

My friend has been steadily busting her ass in all different directions – a state of the art gallery, multiple moves, art work, all of it, and now it’s all come to a grinding halt. I told her I had returned here to write and record. She said she too was going to do a deep dive in her art having neglected it for too many other tasks.

The world has been too much with us. A long time ago, I memorized a few poems in case I was ever on a desert island and one of them is by William Wordsworth:

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

I’ve resisted slowing down. I’ve resisted the siren’s call to be. I’ve resisted the muse whispering to write. In its place, I have WORKED like I was running out of time. WORKED for little to no money. WORKED while on a shaky foundation. WORKED to keep us afloat. WORKED hoping for miraculous bounty. WORKED praying for a break. WORKED dreaming of travel. WORKED till I lost all sense of play and mirth.

I did not memorize Thomas Merton’s The Violence of Overwork – I didn’t have to – I’ve committed this violence for longer than I can remember:

There is a pervasive form of contemporary violence to which the idealist most easily succumbs: activism and overwork. The rush and pressure of modern life are a form, perhaps the most common form, of its innate violence. To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone in everything, is to succumb to violence. The frenzy of our activism neutralizes our work for peace. It destroys our own inner capacity for peace. It destroys the fruitfulness of our own work, because it kills the root of inner wisdom, which makes work fruitful.

The pandemic has changed things. We’ll see how it changes us.

We are all learning social distancing. This morning I ran into Ann wearing the same 100 Men Hall tee shirt as me and said, “Hey, let’s take a selfie so I can put them online” and then I went to stand next to her and she reminded me to distance. Then later the same day, I was in my car and saw her again, and she came towards the car and I immediately pulled my head back. She said, “Did you just back up?” And I said, cringing, “Yes.”

Just weeks ago, my friend Laurie came from New Orleans to visit and we took a long walk, and when her dog needed to rest, we both went to sit on the curb and I sat too close to her. She moved over and said, “Sorry.” Then I said, “Sorry” and moved further away.

Nothing eases our discomfort like human touch.

Nothing feels more natural than getting close to someone we love.

This afternoon the radio was ablaze with news of mounting deaths, crowded hospitals, burned out medical workers, global pandemic, and I, who had been on my way to the grocery to get bottled water, turned around and came home.

Home – where you are not a receiver or a giver of germs.

At 60 years old, I’m redefining fun for me. It’s surprising how hard I’ve had to consider what is fun since it changed without my knowing it. I came to the conclusion a few years ago that fun for me was a hike in nature or a good long walk on the beach, a bike ride through a beautiful neighborhood, writing in a group, a gathering of gals with spirits and apps, a yummy dinner with a man or boy, and texting with friends who make me laugh. I still love dancing, but I find I have to make dancing happen.

I could add traveling, gardening, a meandering conversation with a good friend, reading a good book and watching a good movie to that list.

Before I would have said going out with friends. Just out and about, and drinking and dancing, and listening to music, and ending up the night in the early morning hours perhaps stopping for food on the way home at some all night joint.

I want to know more about fun. I have a friend who makes a joke out of everything – even dead serious stuff. Sometimes it annoys me. I have a son who wants to make me laugh so badly he tells corny and ridiculous jokes. Sometimes he annoys me. I have a friend who knows how to make fun out of just about anything. I wish I had her gift.

What I know about myself is I am a serious – have always been way too serious – and it was a very dear friend who told me, “Rachel, you have to find the humor in the moment.” And a light went on. Have. More. Fun. — Laugh. More. — Don’t. Take. Yourself. So. Seriously.

In these days of quarantine, pandemic, and social distancing, I’m going to have to work extra hard on my fun quotient.

I’ve been reading what the experts say and it appears this coronavirus might have the tenacity to stick around forever. There is hope that some of us become immune and hope that someone will find a vaccine.

Today, I had to tell Tin that he is most likely not going back to school to finish 5th grade. Instead, there is going to be a lot more of me, the dog, the cat and the fish and online learning.

He can’t comprehend that he will not be running around at recess, laughing with his buddies, and having playdates. It’s not in his scope of imaginings.

Life is going to be very different for Gen C – these children growing up during a pandemic. It will be interesting to see what they make of it when they get to have the advantage of hindsight.

The Kabbalah speaks about an Angel assigned to you when you are in the womb to show you everything you will need to know to be able to complete your tikkun in this lifetime. But because our brains expand in many directions as we grow older, we simply don’t remember the soul memory – so to reignite remembering we can use one of the 72 names of God as a mantra. Breath in vav, breathe out shin, breathe in resh, breathe out.

My friend who is a life coach believes every one of us is born naturally creative, resourceful and whole.

To think we are hardwired to handle a pandemic – who knew? And yet, here we are, doing what we have to do, behaving in ways that we are unaccustomed, ditching dreams of the future for being present, and figuring it all out as it comes.

• Kabbalah – the ancient Jewish tradition of mystical interpretation of the Bible
• tikkun – Jewish concept of “mending the world”, applied more widely to ethical activism in contemporary society
• 72 names of God – see Kabbalah chart below

There are silver linings to this pandemic. Families quarantined together are experiencing a closeness unknown before this time. Friends near and far are receiving text messages, emails, and Facetime/Zoom/Skype/What’sApp missives to stay safe and know they are loved.

The world seems smaller.

The dogs are getting walked.

The pantries are being cleaned.

We are capable of anything including:

Not making money

Not being physically close to people

Not freaking out

Teaching our own kids

Cooking three square meals a day out of what is in our cupboards

Washing our hands more times than we could have imagined

Not driving as much

Imagine how the planet is healing from this slowdown?

Imagine how this slowdown is rewiring our brains to:

Not consume as much

Not waste as much

Not fear what we cannot control

Not waste today planning for tomorrow

Thank

God

It’s

Fabulous

Today was another day of undoing. I didn’t sleep all night so when I went back to bed at 5AM this morning, it was no surprise the next time I looked at the clock was 10AM.

That meant I was late for everything – getting Tin set up on school work, breakfast, which now felt almost like lunch, and on and on.

I managed to make two onion pies – help Tin through three chapters, multiple math lessons, science and then poof, the day was done.

The day had gone by in a blip – very little time to check the news and worry.

We watched the second Harry Potter movie and took Stella out for a walk.

In the night sky, the new moon suspended beneath Venus – the whole star studded backdrop with these heavenly bodies – the world seemed larger, more expansive – go check it out for yourself.

NYT: At least 85,000 people have been infected in the United States. As states pleaded for supplies, the White House canceled a plan to produce thousands of ventilators.

NYT: New Orleans Faces a Virus Nightmare, and Mardi Gras May Be Why. Louisiana may be experiencing the world’s fastest growth in new cases.

I can’t remember when it was I realized that no one else takes the form of your parent – dad or mom – when they’re gone – there is nobody in power, authority or government going to save you.

Perhaps it was driven home during the 2005 Federal Flood.

Hmmm.

Maybe it’s the constant reminder when I turn on the news or check social media.

It’s 2AM – I think I can go back to sleep

It’s 3AM – I know I’m not going back to sleep

It’s 4AM – I can’t face anything on my screen or in my brain

Note to self: Curtail news. Curtail social media. Don’t isolate.

If Tin has heard it once, he’s heard it a million times, the most vulnerable people who get the coronavirus are over 60.

Today, before starting a fresh new day, we went over why we hit so many snags yesterday. My friend, Susie, said I should have Tin draw, write or sing about what makes him scared, angry and sad. And then ask him what I can do for him.

Scared: Losing you cause you’re 60

Sad: XXXTentacion died

Angry: Something I can’t figure out. Reading is hard. Math is hard.

What can mom do for you?: Buy me donuts.

It’s already started, I noticed when I was watching This is Us, I kept cringing as the characters were touching each other or as they touched doorknobs and counter tops that were not theirs.

Social distancing is already hard wired in my brain:

1. Touching other humans = bad
2. Touching objects that are not yours = bad
3. Picking up litter – bad