Last week marked the one-year anniversary of the date the world as we knew it screeched to a stop, so now we're doing things for the second time around, slightly differently: masks, always; grocery lines, still; family time, all the time. The crocuses are coming up in our yard, and it's St. Patrick's Day again, and I'm thinking about how to celebrate Easter for the second time during this strange season.
Most every day of this last year, I've walked like it was my job. Excepting a break in January and February when winter kicked in and I stuck to the spin bike and treadmill in our basement Luxurious Home Gym, I've logged well over 10,000 steps a day, even getting obsessive enough about it to occasionally realize I'm short at 9pm and start doing laps inside my house to reach my goal. I'm on my third pair of Nikes. I've fallen hard for podcasts, and for a couple favorite walking buddies.
This morning was no different. I headed out, the sun slanting through the bare trees, noticed the first spring flowers poking up. Anna Quindlen's voice was in my ears and the geese returned noisily to the lake as I walked around it. There was a Gatorade bottle and a granola bar on a bench, nestled together with a note taped to them that said "Danny."
I thought about the people I know who are sick right now, the big and little griefs of this year, Annie's college applications, what to cook for dinner. I thought about my faraway friends and how much I want to see them. I gave thanks for the little things that shine a light out of this mess for all of us: vaccinated dinners with my parents, soccer games with masks and elbow bumps, scientists and doctors and teachers and administrators who have crafted a good, hard path forward. I've felt stuck this year -- I'm sure I'm not the only one -- both literally (at home except for a lucky summer up north and one glorious week in a rented house on Anna Maria Island at New Year's) and figuratively, creatively. Like I'm not sure what to do with myself much of the time: walk, read, clean, get groceries, cook dinner, repeat.
Meanwhile, the sun is returning, getting stronger every day. And I'm hoping for a little more light to see by as we chart a path forward.
