Here we are, one year after the words coronavirus and social distancing first entered our lexicon. One year after fear of touch and breath and each other first flared across our nervous systems. One year after our worlds shrunk and cracked open simultaneously.
What do I need to never forget? I need to hold onto how it felt, when everything first started slipping away and it was suddenly unsettling to see another person on the street and my wife started taking three showers a day because we had no idea if her job in the hospital would leave our entire family at risk (fomites! we were so scared of fomites!). I need to remember how, in those early moments of loss and paranoia, it was so clear that the only thing I was longing for was other people. I wanted to talk to and learn from and hug and laugh overly loud around other human beings. Family, friends, strangers, whatever. When everything felt at risk, that's all I wanted. I didn't want a beer at a bar. I wanted a beer at a bar with people. I didn't long for the income from a conference speaking engagement. I wanted to be in a stupid, offensively bland hotel ballroom with other people. I didn't want a world without challenges. I just didn't want to navigate them alone.
I would hope that i never go back to hurrying everywhere. I have learned that we have too much stuff, too many choices, and too much superfluous in our American lives. We don't need it, and we aren't served by it. I, too, have gotten to know those close to me in a more profound way because we have been stripped of the niceties, conveniences...we kinda got back to the raw of who we are. I hope we don't go back to running to, from, and worse away from eachother.
On the small, weird project that has given me meaning: I started a flock of backyard chickens in July. I visit with them every day in between zoom meetings as a way to get outside, move, and enjoy the company of my charming ladies. It led to my husband discovering that he could raise quail. When we reached the point where he had something like 40 quail in the house and yard and started asking me if he could get "just two turkeys" for the backyard of our small suburban home, we knew something had to change. He connected with a retired landowner online who wanted her land to be managed and would let him start a poultry farm on her land. She's an engineer (like me!) who cares deeply about education (like me!) so she's been someone I've been loving as well. Visiting the farm every weekend with the hubbie and watching the chicken (and now turkey!) antics has give me meaning as we try to keep these hilarious and lovely creatures alive every day.
I have fallen in love with so many people (and rocks!) over the past year. My wife, my sons, over and over again, as we all change and grow. My resilient parents and my ever-vulnerable-in-her-strength sister, and her John and my nieces over Marco Polo. My friend Aviv, my students and their families. The racial and disability justice revolutionaries among whom I've found fellowship. So many authors and thinkers: Audre Lorde, adrienne maree brown, Prentis Hemphill, Diane Wilson, Sunaura Taylor, etc. etc. But yeah, this sprawling family of rocks on my desk, some of them now balanced on one another, stacking and spiraling and reassuring me of each moment's endlessness, the sudden forever.
How although in deep sadness and confusion at times...how amazing it was to hike with my kids almost everyday. And how they love the woods now and are damn strong. And writing poetry again (ahhhhhh) that’s helped me when I miss other juicy things like hugging loved ones. ♥️
On seeing anew: One of my early days at home with my two young daughters last March, we discovered a trail overlooking the river not far from our house. Upon entering the trail, as we stopped to rest in the sunlight, a handful of marmots began to peek out of and crawl around an abandoned concrete structure, sunning alongside us. A bit further along, we found a secluded spot where my three year old dipped her toes in and tried to balance on a rock. On our way out of the river valley, I spotted a blue and white, long-tailed bird that I now know is a magpie. I marveled that the city where I spent much of my childhood, and recently returned to as an adult, had such natural beauty so accessible to my neighborhood that I hadn’t previously explored. A year later, I now affectionately think of this section of trail as the “home stretch,” and it’s connected to a network of woven (and expanding) trails that connect me to miniature wetlands tucked behind tiny home settlements, swimming spots under towering bridges that I’d driven over hundreds of times but never known what lay beneath, and encounters with herons, coots, cormorants--gorgeous birds and other wildlife that I’m increasingly able to name.
I have fallen love with two or three neighbors and strangers I have met on the internet who give me purpose and thought stimuli each day, each week, once in while. I have learned so much about the lie that is America and it raises a frustration/anger in me for all I missed/ignored before. There are no institutions, but there are individuals who are trying to keep us safe and honest, and I thank them in my heart and sometimes in my words everyday. My Covid project is the building of a tiny house in the barn meant to someday house people who make their way here to be bathed in the love I've been storing up for a year.
What person have you fallen in love with: we have had the good fortune of spending weeks on end playing with and falling more deeply in love with a granddaughter, who is almost 2. What started as a way to help our children who were nervous about sending her to daycare, became a chance to get to know this little one in ways that have been life changing for us (and maybe her too!). We live with gratitude that we had the flexibility to be available, knowing how many friends have not seen children or grandchildren for the whole year.
In the small, weird project department: I started learning Italian on Duolingo. It's great for my brain, AND is a reminder that some day I will hopefully be visiting Italy again. It's a fun carrot....er....carota :)
What do I need to never forget? I need to hold onto how it felt, when everything first started slipping away and it was suddenly unsettling to see another person on the street and my wife started taking three showers a day because we had no idea if her job in the hospital would leave our entire family at risk (fomites! we were so scared of fomites!). I need to remember how, in those early moments of loss and paranoia, it was so clear that the only thing I was longing for was other people. I wanted to talk to and learn from and hug and laugh overly loud around other human beings. Family, friends, strangers, whatever. When everything felt at risk, that's all I wanted. I didn't want a beer at a bar. I wanted a beer at a bar with people. I didn't long for the income from a conference speaking engagement. I wanted to be in a stupid, offensively bland hotel ballroom with other people. I didn't want a world without challenges. I just didn't want to navigate them alone.
I would hope that i never go back to hurrying everywhere. I have learned that we have too much stuff, too many choices, and too much superfluous in our American lives. We don't need it, and we aren't served by it. I, too, have gotten to know those close to me in a more profound way because we have been stripped of the niceties, conveniences...we kinda got back to the raw of who we are. I hope we don't go back to running to, from, and worse away from eachother.
On the small, weird project that has given me meaning: I started a flock of backyard chickens in July. I visit with them every day in between zoom meetings as a way to get outside, move, and enjoy the company of my charming ladies. It led to my husband discovering that he could raise quail. When we reached the point where he had something like 40 quail in the house and yard and started asking me if he could get "just two turkeys" for the backyard of our small suburban home, we knew something had to change. He connected with a retired landowner online who wanted her land to be managed and would let him start a poultry farm on her land. She's an engineer (like me!) who cares deeply about education (like me!) so she's been someone I've been loving as well. Visiting the farm every weekend with the hubbie and watching the chicken (and now turkey!) antics has give me meaning as we try to keep these hilarious and lovely creatures alive every day.
I have fallen in love with so many people (and rocks!) over the past year. My wife, my sons, over and over again, as we all change and grow. My resilient parents and my ever-vulnerable-in-her-strength sister, and her John and my nieces over Marco Polo. My friend Aviv, my students and their families. The racial and disability justice revolutionaries among whom I've found fellowship. So many authors and thinkers: Audre Lorde, adrienne maree brown, Prentis Hemphill, Diane Wilson, Sunaura Taylor, etc. etc. But yeah, this sprawling family of rocks on my desk, some of them now balanced on one another, stacking and spiraling and reassuring me of each moment's endlessness, the sudden forever.
How although in deep sadness and confusion at times...how amazing it was to hike with my kids almost everyday. And how they love the woods now and are damn strong. And writing poetry again (ahhhhhh) that’s helped me when I miss other juicy things like hugging loved ones. ♥️
On seeing anew: One of my early days at home with my two young daughters last March, we discovered a trail overlooking the river not far from our house. Upon entering the trail, as we stopped to rest in the sunlight, a handful of marmots began to peek out of and crawl around an abandoned concrete structure, sunning alongside us. A bit further along, we found a secluded spot where my three year old dipped her toes in and tried to balance on a rock. On our way out of the river valley, I spotted a blue and white, long-tailed bird that I now know is a magpie. I marveled that the city where I spent much of my childhood, and recently returned to as an adult, had such natural beauty so accessible to my neighborhood that I hadn’t previously explored. A year later, I now affectionately think of this section of trail as the “home stretch,” and it’s connected to a network of woven (and expanding) trails that connect me to miniature wetlands tucked behind tiny home settlements, swimming spots under towering bridges that I’d driven over hundreds of times but never known what lay beneath, and encounters with herons, coots, cormorants--gorgeous birds and other wildlife that I’m increasingly able to name.
I have fallen love with two or three neighbors and strangers I have met on the internet who give me purpose and thought stimuli each day, each week, once in while. I have learned so much about the lie that is America and it raises a frustration/anger in me for all I missed/ignored before. There are no institutions, but there are individuals who are trying to keep us safe and honest, and I thank them in my heart and sometimes in my words everyday. My Covid project is the building of a tiny house in the barn meant to someday house people who make their way here to be bathed in the love I've been storing up for a year.
What person have you fallen in love with: we have had the good fortune of spending weeks on end playing with and falling more deeply in love with a granddaughter, who is almost 2. What started as a way to help our children who were nervous about sending her to daycare, became a chance to get to know this little one in ways that have been life changing for us (and maybe her too!). We live with gratitude that we had the flexibility to be available, knowing how many friends have not seen children or grandchildren for the whole year.
In the small, weird project department: I started learning Italian on Duolingo. It's great for my brain, AND is a reminder that some day I will hopefully be visiting Italy again. It's a fun carrot....er....carota :)