The thing is, if you saw me in person, I’d tell you I’m doing quite well…that I’ve found my groove in this whole new socially-distanced pandemic world.
Turns out, I’d say with a pleased chuckle, I’m an introvert after all. Sure, sure, people often think of me as an extrovert, but really, perhaps I’ve only been an extroverted-introvert all along.
In fact, for any of the people I’ve talked to on the phone or had a distanced conversation with on the trail, you would have heard these exact replies.
And really, I’m not lying.
Back in the Before Times, I usually went for my morning walk in the woods by myself anyway. I mostly prefer to be alone with my thoughts and breathe in nature. So that’s not really changed at all.
Now though, upon my return, I’m spending more time on my art (Yay, more creativity time!) or playing piano (Good for me!) or puttering about in the kitchen (Baking is such a lovely homey undertaking!).
Often, I’ll read or work on a puzzle or spend time in our new Friends Gallery in Kimberley, hanging art (or hopefully) making a sale and having socially-distanced conversations (like the aforementioned) where I will wax on about my new pandemic-revealed character traits and how much I’ve found my groove.
Oh yeh, baby…
But then there will be little tells; the random lump in my throat that takes days of extra meditation and deep breathing to quell its hold. Or the sudden urge to back against a wall or bolt out the door when a store suddenly seems to have too many people.
Sometimes it’s just the first moment upon waking, just as I slip back up into the conscious world, when I feel the existential despair of the day yawning before me. The thing is, that existential angst isn’t that new and certainly not only because of a pandemic.
I’ve struggled with those feelings before, and I know the fix and do it regularly; I immediately practise gratitude with concrete images of how grateful I am for our bed, our cozy duvet, the fresh stirrings of the snowy breeze from the open window…the smell of the fire if Kevin is up first, all of it – then I do some deep slow breaths and make a plan for any small acts of kindness I can add to the world. Who can I gift with some of that baking? How can I add joy to somebody’s life? Who can I connect with by a phone call?
Generally, that works.
So, yes, I recognize that I’m in the most privileged position that anyone can be in a pandemic. I have so much to be thankful for, a country that is led by science and compassion and great health care, the bonus of not having to go to a job and all the risks that come with that, the safety of living in a small mountain town so contact is limited and nature is abundant. A wonderful husband and safe home…all of these things are priceless gifts.
I know these things in my bones, but still…I think the biggest indicator of how this is affecting me is held within this blog. In looking back over 2020, and the absolute dearth of posts, I can see how I mostly just gave up. I quit writing. There were all sorts of excuses and reasons to rationalize why I no longer wrote. And really, it’s quite possible that it had nothing to do with a pandemic and that it really was just time to let it go.
But.
I think it’s this isolated world that caused me to give up. Because you know what? During this time, I may have got more in touch with my cave girl self, but a part of me still desperately needs the connection of friends. We are social creatures, and without that contact, I think I was more adrift, and am still more adrift, than I will readily admit too.
I loved sharing a big table at the Stemwinder and listening to live music, casually talking to friends and waving to new acquaintances. Or hanging out at the Elks Hall and shooting a game of pool. In spite of always losing, I loved everything about that social experience. And really, one of my favourite parts of skiing was stomping into the Kootenay Hut with my lunch, the Rocky Mountains glowing out the window, munching a sandwich and drinking hot tea at a table with friends. I miss dinners at restaurants. And dinner parties. Oh man, I miss having people in our home.
And hugs, right? Oh dear God, a big down-jacket puffy hug with a friend.
Damn.
In the beginning, the loss was more obvious and overt. More often than not, when I played the piano I would cry. For some obscure synaptic reason playing certain pieces were associated with my last hospice client. I never got to say goodbye to him. The visits just had to stop as the reality of COVID hit, and then I found out he died exactly where he didn’t want to be. In the hospital. The end.
In fact, in the early days of this brave new world, I cried a lot. I felt broken by the world’s pain and each anguished story. I read them all endlessly and, like a highway accident, I couldn’t turn away. Remember the Italians singing from their balconies? The images of mass graves in NYC?
That feels so long ago now.
So yes, I am stronger, we are all stronger. But we are also all a little more broken too.
Overall, we have done amazing twists and turns in our adaptations. On the whole, humanity is quite remarkable in rising to meet the newest circumstances.
I suppose this post is my way of yelling into the night, Hello! I’m still here!
And obviously, if you’re reading this, so are you. Look at us go!
We deserve freaking medals for just managing to navigate a day. So let’s give ourselves credit for showing up to life, no matter what life flings our way. Because yes, although there is so much to be grateful for, this is not easy.
This is my little missive to remind myself, and you, dear reader, that we’re doing just fine.
Maybe not as great as I’ll tell you in person, but good enough.
Let’s just keep taking care of ourselves and each other the best way we can, okay?
Sending hugs from our home to yours. May the joy of Christmas light up your world.
I can’t believe I missed this…until now. Thank you again for saying so much with such rich insight. At times I would like to crawl around inside your head, maybe sit there with a coffee and smile. Your posts are fun, inspiring, thoughtful, wise… yes always onward.
Ah Mary…I love the idea of you having a coffee in my brain though I think my random thoughts might be pinging around like meteors and it could be dangerous!
I love this visual so much.
Hopefully we’ll be able to have a coffee in real life very soon.
“Probe the Depths from Which Your Life Springs
My only advice for you is this. Go within yourself and prove the depths from which your life springs, and there at its source you’ll find the answer to the question of whether you must write. Accept this answer, just as you hear it, without hesitation. It may be revealed that you are called to be an artist. Then take this lot upon you, and bear it, its burden and it’s greatness, without asking for any external reward. For the creative artist must be a world for himself, and find everything within himself – and in nature, to which he is devoted.
Paris, February 17, 1903, Letters to a Young Poet’, Rainer Maria Rilke”
Good morning Colleen, from the in-between-times, the bardo between Christmas and the coming of a New Year. I am always so happy when Yvonne sends on a snippet of your creativity . Not having a FB account myself or a driving great desire to sign up for regularly posted blogs, it is always a pleasure to be sent something of great soul value.
And so in response to the message that came via Y on Dec. 22 I thought of you this morning when I read this passage from a letter written more than century ago. It called to mind this particular piece you wrote to all who might listen, bringing into sharp focus my own inner struggle with ‘writer-artist’ expression, my constant suppression of muse. The realization dawned, it is a futile and exhausting endeavor to deny the creative connection to the divine. When it is ready to express itself it will! I only have to open to it wholeheartedly.
So thank you for continuing to write when you are moved to share something….this intent has moved me!
xo sb
Oh Sandy. What a gift. Thank you so much for writing. Your timing is fortuitous. I’m not sure why this kind of serendipity continues to surprise me, given that it happens so frequently.
Still, I was about to go down and see if I could rescue the mess that I have on my easel and, in my active avoidance, I of course, checked my email and here were your wonderful words.
And so we encourage and grant permission to each other and finally, to ourselves.
Let’s do this!
YES!
LETS DO THIS!
I have challenged a friend to creativity of any sort every day for the coming year……. in full awareness, intent of creating….all the while noticing how to turn on a tap…and follow what happens then…literally…open it wide…or perhaps just let it dribble under the threat of a freeze up!
Keep ‘er comin’!
xo sb
Yes Colleen,
Single tracks, creekside trails and mountain highways all lead somewhere.
It’s up to us to either follow or just recognize their solitary attraction.
We here are indeed blessed to be able to choose.
Rand. Yes, there is no shortage of ways forward or to just sit and contemplate. I feel fortunate to live in this wonderful part of the planet.
While we haven’t met in person, I feel there is so very much with which we are in accord. Nature as a living, healing tonic. Quietude to be reflective. Gratitude even during a gradual stepwise decrepitude. And grieving personal contact aka HUGS.
I go through stages of needing to actively tamp down FOMO. Lost travel and with that a lessening of photography, another form of engaging with my environment.
I count myself fortunate that my children are adult and healthy and their families are well. I count myself fortunate that we are not faced with loss of income. I count myself fortunate that I am retired from the pressure cooker of working in Emergency, a department I loved but think of the erosion of dealing with insufficient resources for 10 consecutive months. And, I miss the one to one contact and potential to make a difference towards wellness. Talk about double-edged.
Thank you for your reflective piece.
Wishing you and Kevin whatever it is that you celebrate during this time of the year and for a Healthy New Year
Teresa. I agree. I think we are in sync on many topics.
Perhaps, when we can travel again, we will make a stop in Brussels and have an in-person visit. That’d be lovely and something to look forward to.
It really is strange to be pulled into such opposing directions, but somehow we manage, or at the very least, cope.
Thanks for taking the time to share your thoughts. I love how each person’s comments adds to a fuller conversation on this.
Take care and may your celebrations include lots of twinkly lights and glowing candles.
All the best.
What a year it has been, full of fear and anxiety and social distancing. I have missed friends and family and travelling, but as you said Colleen, it will pass. Nothing lasts for ever and there will be light at the end of the tunnel; families will be reunited, hugs will be exchanged. The UK has been at the forefront of developing the vaccine and my lovely neighbour has already had the jab. Here is a positive thought. We must all hold in there. Lovely photos as usual.
Hello Catherine. Thank you for getting me back to my blog. I so appreciate your interest.
I’m really glad to hear your neighbour has already been vaccinated. Person by person, city by city and country by country. We will all keep hanging in there. Take care and I hope you enjoy the best the season has to offer.
Dear Colleen, It is so good to hear from you again. I forgot that I was missing your brief notes here on Twitter. Your morning despair is something I’ve been sharing many (not all) waking up times. My coping is different – I’ll take a lesson from you in moving beyond it. Keep writing, please, keep in touch and keep sending out some inklings of your art. The photos here make me envious for the wide open spaces!
Hugs,
Joan
Joan, thank you for the lovely encouragement. I am going to be more regular in my writing. It’s such a good way to connect with people, even if it’s not in person.
In fact, most of what I write is not anything I would usually ever say in a conversation.
Writing is such a different type of communication. I really don’t understand how/why it works but I like that it does…because it brought your thoughts to me too. I love that.
Take care. I hope you’re able to safely get out into some open spaces too.
Hey Colleen,
When you wrote “casually talking to friends and waving to new acquaintances,” my thoughts went back to our chance meeting on Broadway. Nothing casual about the wild woman waving both hands and shouting my name from half a block away. When Christine remarked, “Do you know her?” I cracked up. Nothing introverted about that hug either.
Thanks for sharing. We’ll get through this!
Love you cousin,
Martha
Hahaha. Nartha, now you’re cracking me up. I guess that time on Broadway was a rather exuberant greeting. I was just so damned happy to see you.
Kevin has often described my laugh as a ‘delicate tinkle’. Apparently he is being sarcastic. It will be great to see you again in the After Times. Love you right back.
Thank you so much for sharing this Colleen! Yes, we are doing fine on the outside but deep inside we are hurting and grieving. I am grieving the loss of innocence and carefreeness (nothing bad will ever happen …), the loss of being physically close to friends, family and just people. What hurts the most is that I haven’t had a hug from my children since last Christmas and was only able to see them once this Summer, when they came to town and we had a physical distant bbq. They live in Calgary and I worry about them every day. My husband teaches Highschool, which adds another level of anxiety to our life.
I could not bring myself to sit down and write Christmas cards to my friends and family in Europe’s far. We all live with this pandemic for almost 10 months now, so what is there to write about other than the constant fear, anxiety and uncertainty hovering above us? How merry can Christmas be this year, and will the New Year bring happines and health to all of us?
Your writing has inspired me to just write it as it is. And to remind myself about all the good and positive things in my life over and over again.
Looking forward to a brighter New Year, filled with many social gatherings, hugs and tears of joy.
Thank you, Christine
Thank you Christine. You’re right. The grieving is for so many losses and at so many different levels and their effect is cumulative. I really believe we have to add as much sparkle and festive cheer into our lives as we can. I have so many lights and candles around the house in my determination to find the light in all this darkness. And yes, we need to feel our grief AND notice the good and positive things. This too shall pass.
Love you my friend. You are amazing. Big big hugs. And love. Victoria
Bless you Victoria.
Looking forward to hanging out one day without masks and with real hugs.
Colleen……you nailed it ALL in this post. Thank you dear writer for sharing your beautiful self in so many ways!
Thanks Helen. I think writing is another way to connect and somehow I’d lost sight of that.
As my great grandmother would say when she shared a deep alignment of sentiment , “Aaach” Colleen. Your writings for me are like skating on a frozen mountain lake- they bring wonder and joy. Thank you for taking the time to share them.
Maureen. I like your great-grandmother. Aaach is a wonderfully succinct way to sum up a ‘deep alignment of sentiment’. I love that phrase too.
And the wonder and joy of a frozen lake is definitely a feeling like no other. So much glory…thank you.