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.

I got a new shirt

1. Truth: Things have gotten really weird. It’s not like things were calm and collected before the global pandemic, so maybe it’s more accurate to say that things are weirder, have reached a whole new level of weird. Here where I live, those who can are working remotely, all schools have moved classes online, yoga studios are offering exclusively online classes or closing altogether, the gyms are closed, all restaurants have moved to delivery or take out only or have closed indefinitely, the libraries are closed, therapists are shifting sessions online, my yoga class I teach is suspended until further notice, grocery stores have restricted their hours to give employees more time to stock shelves and clean and hopefully rest. I worry about those who are losing work and have no buffer to support them during this time, and try to help where I can, (like paying for my upcoming haircut appointment even though I’m going to cancel it or donating to the local food bank). I am actually so glad that I live somewhere that is being so careful, but oh how I’m going to miss my yoga class, and the pool and sauna, and the places that inevitably have to close down for good and teachers that have to consider other professions because they can’t survive the sustained loss of income.

2. Truth: I’ve been preparing for this for the past nine months, the staying isolated at home and the social distancing. I retired in May, and since then I’ve been dealing with a deep burnout. This and my privilege means that for me, beyond the gym closing and my yoga class not happening and not being able to go wherever I want when I want or see friends in person and my husband being home more and an increased anxiety about our health and that of those we love, not much has changed for me in terms of my day to day life. It does add a level of guilt to the process, as it seems like the theme of the day is to do lots of deep cleaning and home improvement, or to create content and opportunities, offering support for those who aren’t going out, and I just don’t have the energy.

3. Truth: I’m concerned, even scared, but my routines are helping me stay grounded. My husband has been making short trips to his office on his empty campus to do some of his work (as an online teaching “expert,” he’s been giving lots of support to those now having to move their courses online), and I spend that time meditating, writing, doing yoga, keeping up with what’s going on in the world, reading books, watching TV, listening to podcasts, cooking, napping with the dogs, doing chores around the house — pretty normal days, not too much unlike before things went off the rails.

One wish: May we be happy, may we be healthy, may we be safe, and may we live with ease. May we come out of this crisis more connected, recommitted to the values of a culture of care, and reminded of the importance of collectively cultivating our inherent wisdom and compassion.