jillsalahub

1. Morning walks. One of the times when everything feels the same as before.

2. Good food. A mix of cooking and eating, a blend of what my body needs and what my heart wants.

3. Practice. As important as this was before, it’s even more so now. In a short writing class I took with Jena Schwartz these past few weeks, I said about it: “For me, practice is about intention, attention, grounding myself in the present moment, as it is. It is calling my energy back to my core, letting go of the planning, of the remembering, interrupting the ways I’m always abandoning myself, getting distracted or trying to control and fix things. Practice for me is surrendering to what is, letting go of my resistance in the gentlest, kindest way possible, without losing my sense of humor.”

4. Books. If you remember, some months ago, Eric and I decided we needed new furniture, bought a new sectional (keeping Sam’s favorite couch and Ringo’s favorite chair) and three new bookcases. Then the bookcases stood empty for a few months, until this week. I unloaded the books from boxes, stacked them in groups on the shelves, then proceeded to organize them. I found some books on grief, death, and joy I’d been wanting to read, spent three hours at it, had to take a break for lunch, got so so sweaty, but it was totally worth it. It took my mind off things for a bit, immersed as I was in my favorite thing: these tiny squares of magic and medicine.

5. My tiny family. I am so so so grateful for our tiny house, Eric’s job (money for groceries, health insurance, giving him something to focus on), how well the dogs have adapted to “going to work with dad,” how some moments feel totally normal, yard time where we hang out in the backyard getting some sun and fresh air without having to worry, the garden Eric is starting from seed, doing HIIT workouts with Eric, taking morning walks and naps, making each other laugh, reading in bed at night while Eric and the dogs sleep, the routine of our days when everything is so unpredictable.

Bonus joy: big salads, crunchy apples, laundry done and put away, clean sheets on the bed, warm sunny days, bird song, bees, the sunny dandelions feeding the bees, tiny green sprouts, my people healthy and safe, grocery pick-up, the internet, good podcasts (I’m working my way through Do You Need a Ride? and catching up on You Made it Weird), good books, (I sent my mom some, since she can’t go to the library or meet with any of the people she typically swaps books with, and we are both reading The Nickel Boys by Colson Whitehead. I sent her some other ones that I haven’t read yet but sounded good, so I’ll be happy to hear what she thinks about those), writing with the videos and prompts Laurie is sending out through her 27 Wildest Days offering (which feels like writing with Laurie, which I miss so much), video chatting with Mikalina and Chloe’ and Carrie, texting with my mom and brother, new puppies and babies (even though I can’t meet them “in person”), the good humans who continue to do their work even as they risk their own health and safety.

1. Truth: Everything has changed; everything is the same. The squirrels still treat our compost pile like a 24 hour “all you can eat” buffet. Spring is rising, things turning green and blooming, so many more hours of light. Every day the dogs get up at 5 am, eat breakfast, and go on a walk. I do yoga, meditate, and write. I hang out with Mikalina on Zoom every Thursday. I’m still burnt out and take lots of naps. I water the plants, do laundry, and put clean sheets on the bed once a week. I pay the bills, still love payday. I read in bed at night while Eric and the dogs sleep. And yet, the dogs “go to work” with Eric in the office at the back of our tiny house, the one that used to be exclusively mine. My office is the kitchen table. I haven’t been in a pool, sauna, group in-person yoga class, grocery store, restaurant, coffee shop, movie theater, or bookstore for six weeks. We are going to cancel the reservation we had for 10 days at the beach, the longer trip we’d planned to visit family in Oregon this summer, and we can’t be sure when we’ll get to go again, when we’ll see them again. Eric and I are home together all day, every day, except the mornings I sleep in while he walks the dogs. When I take the dogs to the vet, I wait in the car while they go inside. I order groceries online and pick them up, never going inside the store. I’m better about using our fruits and vegetables before they go bad and get put in the compost pile. Some days, Eric and I literally forget to shower. I haven’t had to put gas in my car for weeks. My yoga classes are all on Zoom. I text my mom and brother at least every other day. It’s so hard to focus, get things done with the end of the word shadowing me. Sometimes when I first wake up, I forget the current state of things, but just like grief, I quickly remember and it all comes rushing back.

2. Truth: Some things I miss; some things I don’t. I miss the pool and the sauna. I miss teaching my yoga class, group in-person yoga classes, the way the light comes through the three tall windows at Om Ananda Yoga. I miss tea with Chloe’, laughing and crying sitting at her big dining room table covered with art projects, poetry and books, drinking tea out of the pretty little antique china cups she has with her sweet dogs nearby. I miss grocery shopping, going in the store with a list but also allowing myself to add things as I go. Bumping into people, literally bumping bodies, being close enough for that to happen, without worry, the apologies and assurances that follow. Hugging anyone other than Eric. Eating meals in a restaurant, sharing a meal, catching up with friends across the table. Having Jon and Chelsey over for dinner, or going to a movie with them, or even alone. Movie theater popcorn and fountain drinks. Meeting Carrie somewhere for coffee or a meal, working to solve all the world’s problems in an hour or two. Thrift store shopping. Food someone other than Eric or I cooked. Playdates with our dog friends. Not being able to meet new puppies or babies in person. Playgrounds, not for me but for the kids who would play on them. Live music. Poetry readings. Live comedy shows. Meeting with my therapist in person. Haircuts. MASSAGES — *sigh* Bookstores, the browsing, picking up books to read the back cover, flip through the pages, and putting them back on the shelf. Someone stopping to ask if I needed help finding anything. Watching movies with my mom. Walking on the beach. Shopping at the nursery for new plants for the garden. Lord help me, I even miss small talk. I don’t miss my old job at CSU, the way I would feel when I had something scheduled but really just wanted to stay home, missing Eric while he was at work, things that are loud, driving 1200 miles with two dogs in the car, the pressure to be productive, having to dress appropriately for “being out in public,” wearing things like actual pants and a bra.

3. Truth: We work towards a better world, even knowing we’ll fail. I’m realizing that there are always going to be assholes, always going to be obstacles and problems. As a Buddhist, I practice accepting that life is suffering — this isn’t just true, it’s one of the Four Noble Truths, the foundation of Buddhist philosophy. It’s a delicate balance though, a real brain teaser to be working actively towards change, to want to make things better, to right wrongs, and yet be aware that this goal will never be reached, that this is samsara, “the beginningless cycle of repeated birth, mundane existence and dying again…considered to be dukkha, unsatisfactory and painful, perpetuated by desire and avidya (ignorance), and the resulting karma,” (Wikipedia).

One wish: May we shift the goal, the intention, from some endpoint where everything has been made right to living with the reality that nothing is permanent, suffering is ongoing, and change is constant. And in knowing that we can’t fix everything, may we not give up trying.