4/3/20

I haven't had much to say over here. Life feels sort of like it's all blending into one day. It's not the worst. In fact, as I read horrifying stories about what's happening all over, and see cases increasing, and worry about what is to come, I know that I am lucky. My job and pay are stable, I have a cozy home, and I have everything I need. I don't have to risk my safety for anything, really, and that feels like an immeasurable gift at this time in life.

This time has brought to mind the silent meditation retreat I did a few years ago. I went to do eleven days of totally silent vipassana meditation as an extension of my yoga practice. When I say silent, I mean fully silent: no distractions. No reading or writing, no eye contact, no exercise, no anything. Meals were even fully provided with no efforts from me, in hopes of allowing participants to simply focus on their meditation.

At first, when I arrived, it felt novel and special, but then, it felt exceedingly hard. I couldn't think about my nephew or my cat or anyone else that I was desperately missing because it felt so sad and hard. I knew that what I was doing would benefit me, but there were moments when things felt impossibly hard and I cursed my decision to be there. I was deeply lonely. I felt trapped with my own thoughts and like I had no resources or ability to survive that time period without help, communication, and support.

A few days before I left, my perspective shifted. I realized how indulgent this time really was: I was being fully fed and cared for, and given space to focus on my meditation practice. I felt taken care of, and grateful. I realized that I had more than enough within me to sustain me. I could be my own ally and my own team.

Thankfully, during this time, I can talk (probably too much), read, write, and do but the thing that remains is my ability to trust that I can do hard things and be my own ally. The "hard things" we are asked to be doing are truly NOTHING in the grand scheme of what is being asked of healthcare workers, nurses and doctors, grocery store clerks, and other folks. Whenever I start to feel slightly sorry for myself, I remind myself that I am one of the luckiest of the lucky.

I hope you and yours are hanging in there too.