The Spin

Is there anyone who isn’t ready to be on the other side of the pandemic?

I didn’t think so.

It feels like enough already. Except it isn’t. And probably won’t be for longer than we would hope. Which doesn’t mean that there isn’t reason to be hopeful. There is. But only if we stay the course.

And.

Staying the course is hard.

Let’s not make it any harder than it already is.

Maybe it’s all in the way we choose to spin it.

Rather than see it as always having to be careful, let’s see it as always being full of care for one another.

Rather than see it as having the discipline to always do it right, let’s see it as having the dedication to always do the right thing.

Rather than see it as never being able to gather with our loved ones, let’s focus on doing what it takes so that we can.

Rather than see it as all too hard, let’s see it as the hard work that will get us all through.

Rather than see it as a divisive political issue, let’s see it as a way of uniting us as people.

The quickest way to the other side is to stay the course. Let’s not make that any harder than it already is.

Maybe it’s all in the way we choose to spin it.

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

Sometimes It's A Real Slog

Heading uphill yesterday at the beginning of what we’ve come to call “our” logging road, it was hard from the get-go. We have been hiking this same 1.7 miles straight uphill since March, and it’s never been piece-of-cake easy. Which is a good thing because that means we are continuing to increase our stamina and strength, so that we can keep going strong for as long as possible.

But yesterday, it was rough. There was snow on the road making it harder to get a good purchase. I could feel myself start to panic a little, and for the first time I actually wondered if I could make it to the top. Focusing on how hard it was, I lost sight of the fact that I could stop if I needed to. And when ready, keep going.

This is really hard. I said to my husband.

We stopped so that I could catch my breath. Gradually calm replaced panic, and we set off again, this time at a slightly slower but still steady pace, our footsteps falling together on the road. It was still hard, but somehow the hard wasn’t as hard, when I remembered that we simply needed to keep going. And if we did, we would make it to the top.

This is a real slog today, Tom said. (Thank God! It wasn’t just me.)

We broke out of the trees just as the sun was cresting the top of the ridge across the valley. The brilliant blue sky, white snow, and dark green trees all added up to a spectacular morning. And if we hadn’t kept going, if we had stopped because it was hard, we would have missed it.

Two deer appeared on the hillside, and then two more, all of them slowly climbing the steep, snow covered slope. Disappearing behind some trees, and then appearing again, it was like a game of hide-and-seek. One minute they were there, and then they were gone. And if we hadn’t kept going, if we had stopped because it was hard, we would have missed it.

This feels a lot like life right now, I said.

This year has been nothing if not an uphill grind. A grind that’s likely to continue for some time to come, and It will be hard. Somedays it will be a real slog. There will be days when we might panic a little, not sure if we can make it. We will need to stop and catch our breath so that we can remember that we simply need to keep going. And if we do, we will make it to the top, even catching glimpses of beauty along the way.

It never got easy yesterday. But the view from the top was worth every step. And if we hadn’t kept going, if we had stopped because it was hard, we would have missed it.

Stop and catch your breath when you need to, and then, keep going.

Get Over It

When the reality of the pandemic first began to hit, many people, including me, had no idea how long a haul we were in for. Are in for.

We hunkered down and prepared ourselves to ride it out and make it safely to the other side.

Somewhere along the way, many people, including me, began to tire of the uncertainty, restrictions, and isolation. We were over it, and wanted to get on with it.

However, as lockdowns, mandates about the use of masks, group gatherings, school options, and tiered plans for re-opening continue to roll out, there is no real end in sight. Add to that the glaring light shining on systemic racism, the inequities in every arena, the political rancor that is poisoning our shared life, and perhaps the most important election of our lifetime—well— the haul just got longer.

We have each played a part in writing the story of today, and, we will each play a part in writing the story of tomorrow. Will we bring the best of ourselves to the world within our reach, or not?

There is no seeing over this horizon.

There is no getting to the other side of it.

This is what we have.

And this is where our work is.

Right here.

Right now.

Wishing it were different never has, and never will, make it so.

Let’s get over it, and get to work.

Photo by Gabriel Peter from Pexels

No More Kicking Cans

to kick the can down the road:

put off confronting a difficult issue or making an important decision, typically on a continuing basis

Recently, but prior to George Floyd’s death, these two sentences came to mind.

No more kicking cans down the road. There is no more road left.

With those words came an image. An accumulation of cans piled up against a barrier. Each can had a word on it that identified one of those difficult issues and important decisions that have persistently been put off. Cans that we have continued to kick down the road. I could see the cans. It took longer for the barrier that stopped them to come into view. Was it a brick wall? One of those concrete barriers you see on the New Jersey turnpike? Or maybe, the gates around the White House?

Squinting my inner eyes, I finally saw it. The barrier was the Earth herself, drops of sweat on her weary brow from the effects of climate change, wearing a mask like the ones we wear to protect one another from spreading COVID-19. The global pandemic has exposed this pile of cans for what it is. The accumulation of years of unwillingness to do the right thing, take the long view, and reckon with our own tendencies to look out for me and mine, while looking away from them and theirs.

Then George Floyd was murdered.

He pleaded with the man with the knee on his neck, telling him repeatedly, that he couldn’t breathe. He pleaded until he ran out of air. And then he was dead.

The Earth, against which all of those cans have been kicked, is telling us that she can’t breathe.

Words alone wouldn’t communicate what I was thinking and feeling, and while I might have a bit of a way with words, not so much with colored pens and pencils. That’s when I called my friend Willa. A sophomore in high school with a heart that is deep and wide, Willa has a keen intellect, and a grasp of the world far beyond her years. I want to be like Willa when I grow up.

I asked if she would consider drawing something to capture what I had seen in my mind’s eye.

She would.

And she did.

Except not exactly.

She took what I said, filtered it through her own lens, and came up with something so much better. Something more powerful, and disturbingly accurate—the Earth in full protest. Willa saw what I couldn’t. The cans are not heaped in a pile waiting to be picked up. It’s too late for that. They’ve all ruptured. Their contents have spilled out all over everything, and we have to deal with the mess we have made of the world. Starting with the racism that has been laid bare. In my mind, racism has been its own separate issue. That’s because I am white. To anyone who is not white, the impacts of racism are felt within the context of every other issue filling the skies above the protesting Earth. Yes, white people are impacted by these issues too. But not simply because they are white.

No more kicking cans down the road. There is no more road left.

Earth is calling us to action. To not only take to the streets in protest against what is wrong, but to lace up our shoes and get to work for what is right.

Look at her.

Feet firmly planted, her fists raised in defiance, she is simply not going to take it any more.

We can’t either.

With gratitude to Willa McLaughlin