Coronavirus

I was nervous.  I had agreed to participate in a Zoom panel which included reading from my pre-published book, In the Time of Coronavirus. but it’s been a long time since I’ve spoken to a group.  As I was practicing, reading the blog post a few times, I noticed my voice sounded like it was stuck in my throat.  I did not think that was a good thing.  

We can be shiny and perfect and admired, or we can be real and honest and vulnerable and loved. But we actually do have to choose. --Glennon Doyle Melton

I listen to Glennon’s podcast, “We Can Do Hard Things.”  On one of her podcasts she said that she used to worry that no one was listening to her.  Her audiences were small, her readership small.  But then she started seeing and hearing the few who were listening.  She realized that each person was important, not the number itself.  It was so meaningful to hear that.  I have taken it to heart.

As a psychotherapist I’ve noticed that so many people in and out of my office will say, “I know this is boring, but…” Traditionally therapists don’t respond, we only listen. I’m more interactive, so I respond to the statement that they think what they have to say is boring. I’m curious. I don’t find what they tell me boring. But I want to know how they see it themselves. The subject matter is secondary to their perceptions and experiences of living their lives. I am fascinated by that. Luckily my profession affords me to privilege of hearing their insights and opinions regarding their lives.

What am I doing this weekend?  Nothing special and everything essential.  In an Instagram world of glamourous posts, my weekend is the antithesis of awesome.  I started early to ensure I could easily access the washing machines needed for the weekly laundry.  Luckily for me, it was a ghost town before 7 am, and I peacefully and quietly secured my machines and loaded them from the full hampers.  

It was a full moon this week.  I love looking up on a clear night and viewing the magical, mystical moon between the high rises.  Ever since I was a child I’ve found the moon an enchantress.  Myths have their place, and for many years I counted on myths to justify my outsized love of a full moon.  In times of feeling invisible I felt seen by the moon.  

I came home late last night after seeing a beautifully moving theater piece by Suzan-Lori Parks.  Retrieving our mail, I saw a broken glass and a brick on the lobby carpet.  Apparently, a group of teens were told to leave the area while smoking. So one of them in anger threw a brick through the window to show ‘them.”  It created more work for the porter and super who had to clean up and repair on their weekend off, when they were nowhere near the incident.  

I’m going to think of my gloves as rentals.  No matter what I pay, and how I try to keep them deep in my pockets when they are off my hands, I seem to lose one or more throughout the winter-wear season.  Say what you will about gloves, they undoubtedly lack permanence.  I suppose we could say that about life itself.  

I was in an emotional tailspin earlier this week.  I could tell I wasn’t in the right headspace as I kept thinking of past mistakes I’ve made, times I’ve previously hurt friends, and ways in which I had poor judgement. I was not coming out a champ.  More like a chump.  The negative barrage is not unfamiliar, but it happens less often than in former years.  By Tuesday, I knew that I needed to clear my head so there’d be space for self-care and kindness.  Luckily, I had my weekly therapy session.  

I have always found great pleasure in walking the city streets.  Throughout my 43 years in New York City, I’ve seen a lot.  And, yet, I always find something new.  This past week I started to notice the ubiquitous iron work on so many buildings and railings.  There’s a long history, centuries old, of metal and iron works.  On closer inspection there are common patterns.  Chances are they’re cheap.  But not all buildings have the less expensive options.  There are stunning pieces of craftsmanship.  

It’s Halloween Weekend and the city is ready for the many trick or treaters at every age.  As a child of the sixties our Halloween was comprised of a trip to Kiddie City to pick out a cardboard box with a clear window displaying the plastic mask with a thin mouth opening with two nostril holes for labored breathing that allowed for a muffled song of “trick or treat” at the door of kind home-owners who distributed candy, both great and questionable.  My favorite candy were plain Hershey chocolate bars, M&Ms, Twizzlers, or Good and Plenty.  I was not a fan of the chalky Necco Wafers or boxes of raisins.  We had plenty of fruit and raisins in our home, so I was on the lookout for forbidden treats that I would hide in the back of my closet.  

Manhattan is slower to display the vibrant array of Autumn colors associated with this season.  I had planned to leave the city to enjoy the same lush views that friends had posted in their feeds.  That never happened so I opted to wait for our city’s briefer period of transformation.  It has yet to fully show itself.  However, my walk to the North Woods in Central Park gave me a glimpse of what’s to come.  The North Woods themselves are still greenish.  But the walk to and from the north end of the park gifted me with moments of yellows, oranges and reds.  

As Autumn has created an uptick in activity, I am both excited to get out more and apprehensive as well.  The surprising outcome of the pandemic was that I enjoyed my quiet time.  What was surprising about it was that I lived a busy life and enjoyed juggling a schedule that allowed me to partake in the best New York City offers. The theater and museums were a mainstay for me.  When everything shut down, I questioned how I would get on.  The answer was very well.  

The Hebrew Year 5783 is upon us.  It’s a celebration of new beginnings.  Sometimes called the great reset.  We have a tradition of bringing bread crumbs, which symbolize our sins, down to the river to release them so we can start anew.  For me the letting go of the recent past to move on is an unburdening.  It’s a kindness we can give ourselves in letting go of what we deem to be opposed to our values.  It’s a personal forgiveness so we can live better lives through right action.  

I woke up this morning to a stunning sunrise.  I slept well and was in a better mood than I had been the last couple of days.  Sunrises bring hope.  They help me to begin the day with gratitude.  The day is lovely.  It’s warm enough to avoid outwear, but cool enough to enjoy the breezes on my walk.  The outdoor cafes are filled with happy brunch diners.  The city is moving along nicely.

Today I turn 63.  In my 20s and 30s I wanted a lot of celebrating.  By 40, after I started my present career as a psychotherapist, low key became my preferred option.  Don’t get me wrong, I wanted recognition.  Sometimes, I say with some embarrassment, I demanded recognition.  But smaller became better for me.  Today I took myself to the Bronx to walk among the August flowers at the New York Botanical Gardens.  

Pre-Covid, I took a wonderful writing workshop with Emily Raboteau at the Key West Writer’s Workshop.  Not only was it a beautiful setting, but the guest speakers and the workshop itself were invaluable.  One thing Professor Raboteau taught us was the necessity of proper scaffolding to support the writing.  It took time, but I built my scaffolding.  It’s been more precarious than proper, but I worked with the materials at hand and I’m finding my way.

I entered Central Park at 79^th Street.  The small, seated area was cordoned off so that Central Park Conservancy workers could clean the sculpture of the bear trio that adorns a circular inlet.  I had never seen the careful scrubbing of the artwork and appreciated how diligently they were working to rid the bears of debris.  The park is as beautiful as it is thanks to Conservancy employees and a myriad of volunteers who work assiduously to ensure that we can all enjoy all the Park offers.