So here we are waking up on a Wednesday morning to a new normal.
My kid’s school is shut down for four weeks. My church is podcasting services. My dojang is holding classes on zoom.
I’m working from home now too. That’s better, I think. The forced distance of 6 feet was awkward — walking into a friend’s work space to chat over a project and then realizing where you’re standing and taking two steps back — it’s disorientingly weird.
It’s funny, at the office, I have photos of my family at my desk. At home, at the make-shift work station I’ve set up, I’ve tacked up pictures of my co-workers.
One of my best friends came over on Saturday (we were supposed to meet at a brewery to see a band and swapped it for a quiet dinner at the house instead in the name of social responsibility) and when she walked in we had to question whether or not we could still hug. Us being us we had a rational debate about it.
The way we roll is apparently not dependent on how much rubble we’re standing in the midst of. That’s a little comforting in some respects.
In an effort to get out of the house tonight, the kiddo and I walked over to the church and walked the labyrinth cut into the grass. Meditative labyrinths aren’t labyrinths in the David-Bowie-You-Remind-Me-Of-The-Babe kind of way. There are twists and turns, but no dead ends. The path is long and hard to predict but it leads you into the center and then back out again. Like a friend told me yesterday in a not-too-different context, you just have to stay the course.
So, my friends, I’ll leave you with that on this somewhat apocalyptic-feeling night. Take care of yourself. Call your people. Stay safe. And stay the course.