Yesterday was my best pandemic day yet.
It’d been a tough, tough week as we passed Day 50 under Stay at Home orders in Virginia. It wasn’t sick and dying tough or homeless and hungry tough. It was the “I’m so lucky AND still feeling worn down and out while straining to keep the machine going” kind of tough.
It wasn’t just me. It was our whole house.
Then, yesterday came. The sun was up on time- bright and yellow after days and days of gray rain.
I got to Giant before 6:45am and scored 2 big packs of toilet paper and a half-dozen donuts. Leaving the TP in my locked car in the driveway, I headed out for a 10-mile run with a long interview with Michael Lewis in my ears. I came home to happy kids. They were happy it was Saturday, happy knowing they’d get outside and, of course, happy there was something different for breakfast.
We walked dogs, chatted with passersby, and stood awestruck as the Blue Angles blasted over the house. After leftovers for lunch, we spent the afternoon in the dirt planting annuals and vegetables on the patio and in the garden. The kids flowed in and out of the backyard, on and off their bikes. We only needed one Band-Aid and a short time-out while Linc (very loudly) insisted that we have Baya arrested for crashing into him.
After a second shower, we set up chair pairs in the driveway and caught up with our dear neighbor friends over BYO-cocktails and snacks. I learned I’m the last person on the planet to hear about the IMDb. After more leftovers for dinner, we settled in to watch Pitch Perfect on the porch with popcorn and sticky, baseball-sized macaroons.
Between the sun, the run, the toilet paper, the sugar, the dirt, the (lack of) dishes, real live conversation, and the kids finding dozens of ways to entertain themselves (by themselves), it was a great day.
I share for this reason. Writing not only helps me think but it also helps me remember.
My memory has limits. It also changes with new information or as louder, more persistent voices seep in. This shiftiness feels like a risk and an opportunity.
Writing is an offering to my future self. It’s the gift of a more personal and familial perspective as official version of history is written by someone else. It’s the gift of color and texture as the details are summarized away.
So, I write it down. And, here’s a friendly challenge. You should too.
If you need a place to start, answer these questions. Write in words or emojis, pithy statements or long silky sentences, stream of consciousness or with Strunk and White within close reach. It doesn’t matter and doesn’t have to be “complete.” No rules, no grades. Just writing.
When you’re done, you can post it, email it to friends, or stash a printout in your underwear drawer. If you’re so inclined, I’d love to read yours.
Your future self knows how this all turned out. Help her remember what it was like right now.
