Covid Lives Lost

I know we've all seen the data - the number of people who have died from COVID-19 in the US alone is quickly approaching 1,000,000.

That's a lot of people.

It really hit home to me as I was driving to visit a friend yesterday and crossed the Kansas City city limits, with its population sign announcing some 489,000 people live here. This means, in the two years the country has been coexisting with this virus, the people who have died from it would have filled my town. Twice over.

Imagine.

The crowded sidewalks of the Plaza and Westport. The hallways of the museums, the paths at the zoo. The hospitals teeming with staff and patients. Block after block, from trendy condos, to apartment towers; from exclusive houses on huge lots with their carefully sculpted landscaping, to the rehabbed or run-down airplane bungalows crowded into the streets of the east side. 

Empty.

The young moms smiling at their stroller-ensconced babies as they walk around the park. The exercisers, the walkers and runners, with whom they share the path. The people in the center of the park, throwing balls for their delighted dogs. 

Gone.

The tired workers and demanding customers in the restaurants and grocery stores. The greasy mechanics in the car repair shops and the car owners hoping the bill won't be too high. The teachers and students who fill the schools with their joys and frustrations, laughter and tears.

Died.

Imagine miles of roads, their lights mindlessly switching from green to yellow to red, beckoning to no one. No obnoxiously loud motorcycles on the streets, no beleaguered Amazon delivery drivers, no SUVs or sedans or police cars or fire trucks.

Silence.

It's like the times when I ventured out during the lockdown days of the first months of the pandemic, the streets eerily silent, except that instead of all the people being tucked behind their closed doors hoping the shutdown wouldn't last too long, they're all dead. Twice over.

It would make for shocking fiction. Even as I write, my mind tries to evade the reality that it's fact. The number seems staggeringly (is that a word?) bigger when I mentally gather all those people into one place, give them the faces I see as I move about my days.

*sigh* May they Rest in Peace.

Spring? Spring!

Back in Minnesota where I grew up, winter seemed to get stuck in the dirty piles of leftover snow during these last weeks of March. It took FOREVER for it to loosen its grip and move on. One of the things I like about living in the middle of the country, as I have for the past several decades, is that spring outside my house shows up around the same time as spring does on the calendar.

Its appearance took me by surprise this year. Not sure why I was back in Minnesota mode after all this time, but there I was. I got back from Costa Rica, in the middle of a slush storm, and thought, yup, this is about right. The following week, we got six inches of snow, and I felt right at home.

At least, I felt at home until the snow melted overnight, despite the temps hovering around freezing. To my surprise, the March sun had enough oomph to speed winter on its way. Who knew? Suddenly, it's moved on; we've (probably) seen the last of winter for this year. For the last week and a bit, we've had periods of warm sun alternating with cooler, rainy days - clearly the combination the local plants have been waiting for, because things outside are turning greener by the day.

This week is my favorite week of the year. It's the week where, when you glance around outside,  everything looks just like it has for several months - gray and brown; the trees sleeping away the cold days. But then, when you look a little closer, you can see a halo of green around each one, proclaiming it is time to wake up and greet the season.

The birds outside my window have been paying closer attention than I - I've been waking early to their urgent-sounding song. "It's here!", they proclaim. "Time to build a nest and welcome back the bugs!"

Until they started singing, I didn't realize how desperately I needed to hear their song; needed to know that some things are still going right in the world.

The news from around the world is full of awful images. There are displaced peoples; spoiled children/tyrants willing to kill indiscriminately to try to force the world into a shape more pleasing to their egos. COVID is still a thing, and rumor has it we'll see another surge of cases in a month or two. Our efforts to mitigate climate change have been too little, too late - I fear that die is now cast.

But, also true, the winds have grown soft, beckoning me to come outside and breathe deeply of the scent of spring. The sun gently caresses my face, the flowers are beginning to bloom, and I am reminded that "this, too, shall pass" also applies to the parts of life I don't particularly like.

Good Is.

Control?

 

I've long tried to follow this bit (along with several other gems), of advice from Victor Frankl's book, "Man's Search for Meaning":

"Forces beyond your control can take away everything you possess except one thing, your freedom to choose how you will respond to the situation."

Given the givens of the upheavals in the world, the advice seems particularly on-point these days, and his words have been surfacing in my musings quite often.

Some of my thoughts have been circling back to recall how my interpretation of his words has evolved over the years.

Back in the day, when I first read these words, I took the word 'control' in an almost physical sense. When I reacted in a way I didn't like, I'd sweep up the offending reaction, open the metaphorical dustbin lid, stuff it in and slam the lid down, hoping said reaction would stay properly tucked away.

There was a lot of judgement in my response, lots of shoulds, and should nots. Shoving things away helped me in the moment, but over time, it always seemed like that dustbin lid would pop back open, and my reactions would overflow onto the floor, making quite the mess.

I've reached a new (though hopefully not the last) stage in my learning these days.

Rather than just stuffing the parts of my reaction I don't like away, I work to break them down some. I try to step back, and just notice, withholding judgement as best I am able. (This works better in some situations than it does in others, I gotta admit...) 

I try to understand why I reacted as I did. I take note of which pieces of my reaction I found helpful, which parts not so much. Then, I try to remember the understanding, so I can retrieve it the next time I'm in a similar situation.

Reacting less often in the ways which no longer serve me, trying to tilt the balance to the ways which serve me better, these have helped me in ways stuffing the dustbin never could. It kind of looks the same on the outside - my external behavior changes - but the real change is visible only to myself.

I am kinder to me, give me the benefit of the doubt more often, treat my bruised and lonely soul with a little more grace. Because of this, I am happier. 

Turns out that I can strive to have better relationships with the people in my life at the SAME TIME I'm striving to have a better relationship with myself. Turns out, the two aren't mutually exclusive. 

Good to know.

Tropical Vacation

Back in the fall of 2019, when Kate mentioned an upcoming yoga/meditation retreat to be held in Costa Rica, the last week of February in 2021, I was all about it. The retreat was a ways off, but I jumped right in and put my deposit down. She waited just a few weeks, then followed suit. I thought it would be an excellent way to celebrate my odometer birthday, which was in March of last year.

We all know what happened next. Long before February of 2021 arrived, no one was going anywhere. However, rather than cancel the event, they pushed it out a year, and when the date rolled back around this time, COVID was under control. Kate and I were thrilled to embark on our long-delayed vacation this past week.

I left last Saturday afternoon. One big plane, one medium plane, a pause to meet up with Kate and grab a few hours of sleep in San Jose, then one small (12-seater) plane and a van ride later, we pulled into the drive of the Hotel Tropico Latino in Santa Teresa, on the Pacific coast.

It was lovely. The hotel looks like something out of a travel brochure, with small cabins scattered about, carved out of the surrounding jungle. There were palm trees and rocky paths, ocean breezes and meals right next to the beach. What more could I ask?

There was yoga most mornings and at night, right before bed. We also had a one hour yoga study session each afternoon right before dinner, but other than that, our time was our own. 

The larger group went on several excursions, but I skipped all but the zip-line trip, figuring the heat and too much sun would rob me of any joy I'd get from snorkeling or hiking in the jungle. The zip-lining, though, THAT was worth it. I've always wanted to jump out of a tall tree!

Kate and I got to play in the warm ocean waves several mornings after breakfast, before the sun got too strong. There was less retreat and more vacation on the trip than we'd anticipated, but we didn't let that bother us - turns out we are more than capable of formulating our own questions and looking within for the answers. We spent several memorable afternoons sitting in the shade, eyes feasting on the waves just a few feet away, bodies reveling in the caress of the warm ocean breeze, delving into the answers we'd found for our self-assigned retreat questions. 

It's been ten years since my cancer surgery, seven since Kate started her own journey down that hard and bumpy road. That we are both still here, our relationship made stronger by our shared pain, is a gift beyond measure. 

How do I describe the joy I feel when I think of the relationship Kate and I have forged in the fires of the past ten years? I never got to know my mom as an adult, a peer; I have no model for how to be a mom to an adult. Yet somehow, we've figured it out. She has patience with my foibles; I delight in her wisdom.

And. And. To have a week out of time, to rest, to share, to deepen our connection. *happy sigh*

Good Is!