Now that I have had my first vaccine and my second one is scheduled in a week and a half...
I find myself slightly exhilarated by "what now?" and "what next?". These are questions I asked in a whole different way before Covid interrupted my sense of control in my life and reminded me that the lens is always existential. In three and a half weeks I will be 95% protected. By Easter, a holiday that Trump promised would be open to large gatherings and celebrations in 2020, I will be able to hang out with my fellow elders completely unmasked. I already see older people walking around in my neighborhood with their masks in hand and not on face. I still need to protect those who are not vaccinated by masking and social distance, but the relief in knowing I will likely not die of this virus is intoxicating after this entire year of worry. The disquietude of possible impending doom has dominated my mind and now that space is freed up to consider what now and what next.
I went to the grocery store twice in the past 48 hours. I have had all my groceries delivered for the past year often receiving a substitute of something that was out of stock. There was always a disappointment with not getting the exact item I wanted quickly followed by a scolding thought to check my privilege. I was fortunate to to have the means to keep myself as safe as possible. I thought that the first time I would be able to do my own shopping I would relish walking down each aisle and marvel in the selection of foods. Instead I walked into Whole Foods in West Hartford, a store I do not know at all, and felt overwhelmed by the one way arrows, the reminders to space myself away from other shoppers, the plastic barrier in front of the checker and the carts lined up being filled by employees to deliver to customers at their homes. The last time I went into a grocery store was my neighborhood store in Palo Alto, a store I knew so well; that was my life two moves ago.
Time stopped in some strange way with Covid. We managed to sell our family home of 25 years, move to a community nearby (and never get to know it), drive across country three times and then move to the opposite coast without ever experiencing it in a very customary way. I told my friends how strange it was to move in the winter to an area where there really is winter and in the middle of a pandemic. I don't recommend it I said. I can't find my footing; I can't slip into a community. So now I am flooded with ideas and anxiety about how to find my coterie ~ find a church, volunteer at the local school, join a walking group, find a part-time job, etc.
Slow down I tell myself. The one and only blessing of Covid was that it simplified everything for me. I remember being struck by the fact that I didn't get in my car for days at a time. No rushing from my office in Palo Alto to my office in Santa Clara to Castilleja to that errand that needed to be run. Life under that watchful eye of Covid was slow and simple. I experimented with making meals out of ingredients I had at home. I found new shows to watch on Netflix rather than go to the theater. I went for walks and bike rides and I found ways to safely see some friends. I read more books and I did jigsaw puzzles, an activity I only ever did on vacation. I did eat more and I did drink more but when I got over the tormenting fear of the early days of Covid, I checked that self-destructive behavior.
I made it through healthy and alive and grateful. What next? Lesson learned. Open up that new jigsaw puzzle, spread it across the dining room table and don't wait for vacation to come.
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