being a witness to your life

I've been wanting to ask you, "How are you doing?"

And no, I don't mean, Hi! how ya doing?---like in the old days. Before Covid-19.

I mean How-are-you....really? 

And specifically,

How are you handling all this uncertainty?

The other day I heard Bill Gates say that every morning he wakes up, he wonders if this is some kind of nightmare. Yes, Bill Gates, one of the wealthiest men in the world is watching the same heartbreaking stories unfolding all over the globe, and experiencing the same isolation from others as we are.

And despite being insulated from the daily worries of the average person, he admits to waking up with the same kind of disbelief we all have, at how swiftly we lost the busy lives we were all living only a few months ago.

The other day Jim and I walked to the beach and we both felt a bit stunned by the quiet solitude; on a popular SoCal beach during a April weekend that would typically be flooded with tanners and bikers and volleyball players, it was mostly empty. And we were astonished to have this majestic lushness all to ourselves.

But in that same moment, we felt the strangeness of these times.

Suddenly in the blue-green expansiveness of the ocean, we could see for miles, the gray distinct outlines of distant ships and the Catalina Island emerging like a crusty sea creature against a clean blue sky.

And it hit me. Is anyone else seeing the irony in this surprising windfall of glorious pollution-free air, as a result of this deadly virus? 

I don't know why this seems so profound to me.

But suddenly, courtesy of Mother Nature, we each have the chance to see what's right in front of us with a renewed clarity --both literally as a result of the lack of toxic pollutants in the atmosphere but also metaphorically--because of the sudden PAUSE we're all experiencing together.

A deep, collective pause. An interruption from our frenetic-paced lives in order to save ourselves and our fellow man. But like the sudden lifting of the smoggy clouds, we've also been offered a clearer, unobstructed view of ourselves too, and this life we've been busy creating.

Are you feeling it too? That layer of uncertainty that's settled over our days like a global fog, connecting us to distant lands. 

Do you feel that strangeness in the air when you go outside? 

I keep thinking it has something to do with living without the skin-to-skin contact with other humans. It's surreal, this kind of detachment. Don't you agree?

Yes, these are unprecedented times. But I also see what appears to be a unifying time in our history--certainly in our own lives--because we're all experiencing the same kinds of losses right now. 

Think about that.

We're all having the same worries and questions about our jobs and finances and our plans for the future. 

Can you think of another time when we'll be able to look into the eyes of strangers and recognize our Self?

Recently, I was listening to a spiritual discussion about the layer of fear that is covering the globe right now and I see that fear when I look down the grocery store aisle and find empty shelves where the paper towels, toilet paper and canned goods usually are, and I can feel how afraid people were in that moment, the way they grabbed their goods and turned away, and how having a perspective that sees things in scarcity as opposed to abundance, might intensify these worries even more.

And it makes me feel compassion. Being a type-A control person is a common mask for our fears and anxieties and I know both those worlds well. But that's a post for another day.

During this global pandemic I prefer to see the possibilities for what the inherently-wise grade-schooler calls, a do-over.

I like to think of it has Humanity having a chance for a fresh start. Only this time, without so many fuck-ups  crazy distractions from what really matters, like how we care for our planet and our animals and people who may look different from us. 

Except of course, humanity is Me. And you. And everyone else. And any transformation has to involve all of us collectively becoming more self-aware. 

And I believe that comes from slowing down. And noticing things. 

The other evening Jim and I were walking Stella when we saw a big, burly man come out of the dark branches of a tree and cross the street toward us. He was talking but we couldn't hear him, and our first reaction was caution. 

Then as he moved closer we heard him joke about Stella and the dog barking inside the house we had just passed. 

"Yeah. I gotta go help Mary'" he said, pointing to her house as he walked by us, "she's not getting around too good and her dog might need to go outside." 

As we waved and said a few friendly words to him, we heard him yell back from the sidewalk and lift his shoulders, with both palms out, 

 "Hey. Gotta help our neighbors, right?"

I don't know why. Maybe my insides are more raw and exposed after losing Patrick. But I found something so endearing about his clumsy approach to us in the dark and his kindhearted intentions that I got tears in my eyes. It was a moment out of dystopian novel when the bad guy is really the hero all along.

These are the moments that make me realize, I never want to forget certain parts of this self-quarantine, not because it's a good thing of course-- but because there's truth and love being exposed amid all this fear and sickness.

I know you're seeing it too.

It's the reason I flinch at some of the blog posts on my feed lately. 

Look, if I'm lucky enough to remain healthy, I'm all about expressing creativity.  But one thing I don't want is for this sheltering period to be remembered only as some manic rush to fill up every waking moment with incessant cleaning projects or organizing every room in my house, or going from one project to another as if there's some deadline to be met. 

For me, that feels like a version of distracting myself from important feelings.

But hey, just my opinion. Catastrophic loss has taught me I know nothing. Although I will say this. 

The older I get, the one thing I'm learning is that life is a constant balance of Being and Doing. And the only way I know how to get through difficult times in my life is by being fully present. 

Which is the opposite of running away from pain, right? 

Does it sound crazy? Because since September 2018, I've never experienced more suffering and heartache. But this is my life and I don't want to miss out on any of it, you know what I'm saying? I like to think of it as being a witness to my whole life. And that means--not just the good parts. 

Consider this. If we don't care enough to value what we're going through, who else will? Right?

So. 

Back to you my friend.

How are you doing?

• How are you handling all of these questions and loss of control?
• What layers are you shedding lately?
• Have you lost anyone to Covid-19?
• Did you know that losses--even little ones--can bring about mourning?

xo

Leslie