Some days I wake up in my new home and feel an intense longing to be back in California where all is familiar to me and where so many people I care about reside. Yesterday morning I woke up with the realization that I cannot maintain my distanced friendships forever on Zoom; they need the required care of physical presence. I realized that most friendships right now are being nurtured virtually so for now being 3,000 miles apart is the same as being 3 miles apart. But it doesn't feel the same to me as I settle into this unfamiliar (but quite lovely) place in a different time zone.
Before Covid I had the fantasy of being bi-coastal. We would sell our home and buy something smaller in the Bay Area and a home in Connecticut; we would split the year. The fantasy went so far as to try to maximize the beauty and climate of both coasts. Three months here, three months there, etc. When our granddaughter was about to be born we sold our home and began the adventure of "what next?". The possibilities seemed exciting. When the reality of the pandemic slowly dawned, and Hilary and Nate moved East a year early, "what next" began to feel more like a squeeze than an expansion. Friends or family; we couldn't have both.
This morning I woke up to a beautiful crisp, chilly and sunny day in Alexandria. It rained yesterday and the kind of clear and sunny day that follows a rain always makes me feel a slight exhilaration. We are going on an adventure today ~ three nights at an airbnb in Harper's Ferry West Virginia. Hilary told me that West Virginia is a combination of intense white poverty and new-agey liberals yearning for a rural haven. We are staying in a cottage on a farm that is part of a yoga retreat center. I have never been to West Virginia, but true to form, I have so many preconceived prejudices about it. Like the rest of my travels through this country I am hoping to be humbled this week-end; hoping to shift (little by little) my othering into some compassion for our shared humanity.
Yesterday Thomas and Nate rode their bikes over the Arlington Bridge into Washington. They had a goal of riding from our house into Washington in 30 minutes. What they encountered at the end of the ride was an eerie sign of the times; National Guard with automatic weapons shunting all arriving vehicles (including bikes) in a direction away from the Capital. This is where we are today. We are in the midst of the worst part of the pandemic and at a time in history when democracy is hanging on by a thread. Just three days ago Congress voted to impeach for a second time and a great number of Americans actually believe that the election was rigged. We are all in this maelstrom together trying to find our collective footing. I look forward to next week's inauguration with great hope and pit in my stomach.
It is the year of not knowing. And not knowing is a very difficult place for the human psyche. Last night I dreamed I had Covid. In the dream I felt disbelief that as we approach the end of this pandemic AND that I have been so careful, I could still get sick. The existential uncertainty of this moment is a reminder of our human fragility in an indifferent universe. My solace is that we are in this together and I am so appreciative of that company.
Comentarios