Empty Shelves

Well, it's now the end of March. March 2020. What a crazy month. Until this month, worldwide pandemic was merely the title of a game we have, stacked between Monopoly and Clue. This has been a month of unexpected thoughts, emotions, and experiences. Never before have I felt both so alone and so connected to the world.

At first I experienced awe. Not "I'm impressed" awe, but jaw-dropping I'm in shock" awe that this virus is actually spreading around the world. I could not wrap my head around what was happening. I heard of people hoarding, I saw the social media posts, and then, before all the schools closed and government officials told us to stay home, before stores limited their hours and limited the number of shoppers allowed inside, before we starting sanitizing everything that came into our home, we went to Costco.

It was crowded. There were no carts out front. Half the people there, employees and shoppers alike, were wearing masks and gloves. Alex and I split up to try to find anything on our list that was still available. I gathered

a few items, slowing pushing the cart through the waves of people, and then I turned onto the

bread aisle, and that's when my stomach dropped. That's when a sob welled up and came out like a laugh, my eyes watering. Grief and shock manifest in so many unusual ways. There was not one single thing left. Rows and rows usually overflowing with bread, rolls, and tortillas were completely empty. Naked, wire shelves stared back at me, stretching down the endless row of nothingness.

We have been spending our days surviving. We are both incredibly fortunate that we can work from home. We do not take this for granted. But it's still hard. We lose our routines. More tv is watched. More food eaten. More sleeping through alarms - then no alarms at all. Just sleep. On good days I do yoga. On good days we spread a blanket in the backyard and bring out our chairs, books, and computers, and spend a few hours in the sunshine. We get updates on the latest news, but we no longer spend as much time on social media. I've been reading more. Resting more. Spending hours putting a puzzle together. We've taken Indi on more walks than we have in weeks. The pressure to "make the most of this time" descends at least once a day if not more, and I wrap myself in a hug and remind myself that it's okay to rest, to grieve, to just be. There have been moments of despair, and moments of peace. I have felt utterly alone and terrified, I have been frustrated and annoyed, overwhelmed and depressed, but also silly, playful, calm, and deeply seen and loved.

I don't know what tomorrow will bring. This next month is a mystery. The future is unknown, but isn't it always? We can plan and organize and anticipate, and then something completely unexpected happens, and all we can do is our best. And right now, sometimes my best is getting out of bed and spending the day on the couch. Sometimes it's doing yoga and cleaning the house and writing. Sometimes it's putting a puzzle together. Piece by piece, it eventually all comes together.