March, 2021
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Day 77
There’s nothing quite like sitting down with a full chai latte and catching up with an old friend. Even if it’s to find out she’s moving away and even if it’s only on the phone instead of in person (this is the current status quo for Covid, anyway).
I’m not always “good” at friendships. I don’t do all the things — the cards and the gifts and calling regularly. But even so, i have incredible female friends and I know it. I am grateful for it. I put in as much effort as I know how to, as comes naturally to me. I love them all indescribably. Deeply and fully. And they accept me for me, which is such a blessing.
Life has gifted me friends along the journey, women (& men) who understand me, who listen to me, who teach me and inspire me. Today’s phone call was a reminder of all the things that happen along the road of life for which I can (& should!) be thankful.
So tonight I’ll research the Hudson Valley and listen to Folklore and look forward to the next time our paths cross. A moment we will inevitably plan and a moment I will relish because this friendship rose out of the ashes of years of hard work and sacrifice. And it is a gift.
Xox, g
Day 76
I think being an adult is recognizing the need to “do the things.”
A woman in class today confessed that it took effort to leave her comfortable chair, snuggling with her dog, to get herself to yoga today. A chorus around the room of other women, myself included, confessed they never regretted coming to class — that class itself was amazing — but getting there, especially on cold, grey days was the real challenge.
I know that even if I am tired and angry and frustrated and depressed the best thing for me to do is get dressed and get out of the house. I think that’s why Covid affected me in a such an insidious way. I am a loner, I am an introvert … but to stay balanced, I need to get out of the house. I need social interaction and routine. All that disappeared a year ago. And while it’s come back in fits and starts, it isn’t the same. There’s an underlying fear, there’s a wary gaze — politics and pandemics and civil rights have divided all of us and we don’t know who is “safe” anymore.
Even on my mat— socially distanced and wearing a mask— it doesn’t feel the same as class used to feel. It feels close, don’t get me wrong. But not the same.
I also know that to save myself, to keep myself from spiraling, it’s imperative that I get on my mat, that I sweat and wobble and struggle through class, breathing heavily through a sweat-soaked mask.
And that is adulting. It’s knowing that I could choose sadness and depression and sweatpants and junk food … and choosing something else instead. Something better for me.
Adulting is really effing hard sometimes.
Xox, g
Day 75
We are all on journeys.
Sometimes we don’t know where we are going or why … but we are traveling. Aimlessly, with laser focus … everything in between. Traveling along the road of time.
I think about time a lot.
Time is funny and tricky – like an optical illusion. Fast and slow simultaneously. I remember when my mother turned forty — she knew everything, she was glamorous and smart and had it all together. She had the answers to all the questions. She was everything.
I didn’t feel that way when I turned forty. I felt like I was still fifteen — unsure and unknowing. A little lost, a little reckless, a little afraid. Still trying to figure it out, this adulting thing. Still looking for answers to unanswerable questions.
Did she feel that way, too? Probably. But she never let on.
I feel young and old every day. Lost and found every day. I feel like my journey is a lazy drift down a winding river and also, a jump out of a plane.
And I am always, always tired.
Xoxo, g
Day 74
Ever have a moment when you pause – or full out stop — and look around your house and marvel at the fact that it’s all yours?
I had a moment like that today. As I surveyed the first floor of our house and thought – somewhat in wonderment — that this grown-up house with dishes and a dining room table and a phonograph and clean dish towels and furniture is John + mine. We curated it (an obnoxious phrase but unfortunately, fitting). Not only that, but we use our pots and pans and dishes and dining room table. We even listen to records on the weekend while drinking coffee and talking about … well, everything and nothing and all the stuff in between.
It looks like a grown-ups house and I forget that’s what we are. I got my first vaccine shot today (because I know good people not because I was necessarily responsible in any way). I wished for my mother, or even just my husband — someone to be with me in case it was intimidating or scary or confusing. I couldn’t find the office when I arrived and walked around the entire complex in the cold wind, my poor feet dragging on the ground as I tried to walk faster than I am able. I wished for someone, anyone, to be there and be more responsible than me, to hold my hand and guide me. But I have passed that part of life and know, deep in my soul, that I have to own my self.
The shot wasn’t intimidating. It felt bizarrely fast and the clinic was disorganized but efficient. My arm aches and I hope that’s my only side effect.
Lucy is staring at me, wanting her dinner. Daylight savings sucks sometimes.
Xoxo, g
Day 73
When John & I moved to Chester County nearly six years ago, we didn’t know anyone. Well, my parents, but that’s it. We had no friends down the street, we commuted to work and we lived in a little bubble of travel, our selves, Lucy and our house.
It’s funny how community builds when you aren’t even looking. Today, my yoga community and the broader community of people with autoimmune disorders rose up and illustrated to me —yet again — how important community can be. How important community is — full stop.
I’ve never lived in any one place for longer than six years. I hit that mark in the apartment — the first place John and I lived. And this July, I will surpass it when we hit the six year anniversary of moving into our first house. This house. Our home. In a place we chose because it just felt better whenever we were here. In a place where we have built community — with locals and business owners and outdoorsmen and yogis and other transplants. Where our community rises up and carries us when we need support.
When John and I chose each other we had very little else but ourselves to bring to the table. What we have we have earned together, we have built together. When I look around at my life, I feel blessed beyond measure in my partner, in our shared vision, our shared likes and values and hobbies and ways we see the world.
I feel blessed in the people who have become our support network — our friends and neighbors. To have built what we have built from nothing feels like a miracle. And I am so grateful for it.
Thank you Amy & Susanne. Thank you so very much.
Xox, g
Day 72
As days go, today was a good one.
You can feel spring in the air, even though the wind whipped. We rode around with the roof open, wrapped in coats and hats. We drank coffees and talked about life and philosophy and Marvel and school teachers and life.
We spent time with friends and remembered what having dinner with people outside our Covid bubble felt like — conversation and laughter and strange coincidences. Promises to spend time together again soon. Hugs and handshakes and peaches and zucchini.
Derek Jeter and A-Rod.
It was a good day.
Xox, g
Day 70
Sometimes I have moments when I think of younger me, and I don’t feel as though I know her anymore. I don’t understand her choices, I think she must have been a completely different person than I am today. She feels unrecognizable.
And then, by luck or circumstance, I find something I wrote years ago. And in those words, in those sentences and paragraphs I hear myself and remember that even if years have passed and I have changed, it hasn’t been so much as to render my younger self obsolete.
Today, in my pursuit of a more organized office, I happened upon something random — not in a journal and not properly dated. But as I read it I knew exactly when I’d written it and I felt it as though it were yesterday. I saw my more naive self, I read her feelings and my heart beat for her. I thought of a time when the amount of tragedy that I had endured was much less than it is today. When smaller things felt more seismic. When I didn’t fully understand loss.
Time is such a trickster. I feel young and simultaneously, old. I remember days when I felt like I ruled the world — in such contrast with the feeling of knowing nothing – the feeling of being constantly out of my depth. I lost my mother yesterday and years ago … memories faded with time. Pain faded with time. Pain so acute that I feel it in my heartbeat, pulsing in my ears.
In ten years time will I recognize this version of me? Will I re-read my words and marvel at my innocence; will my heart break for the naive joy that still exists within me? I don’t know.
But I hope so.
Xox, g
Day 69
When I first lost feeling in my feet, it was December 23rd and I woke up in the spare bedroom of my in-laws. I thought maybe I slept badly, pinched a nerve. My feet felt floppy, as though they couldn’t hold shoes. As though I had pins & needles … that never ended.
Even when I finally got on a therapy that helped with my walking and my balance and my energy … my feet stayed stubbornly numb. I look at them and am thankful they are pretty feet. In my dark moments, I wish fervently to feel them again and hot tears sting my eyes. I smile at the tattoos that adorn my right foot — tattoos that I barely felt being inked. A tear slips down my cheek and catches in the upward crease of my mouth.
I try not to be angry at the things I’ve lost. I’ve gained as well, and mourning my losses won’t change their absence. I reminded myself of this as I struggled and wobbled and dragged my feet through a yoga practice today. Comparing today to five months ago is useless and honestly, both sad and pointless. Time marches on, my disease marches on and I can only be in my body of today.
It doesn’t change the deep despondence that exists in the dark corners of my soul. That is my truth, parts of the truth I carry behind my smile.
Xox, g
D5 Creation