I’ve typed that, but not said it out loud to very many people in the past 3 weeks…month? How long have I been home? Oh, how I’ve been treating these walls like they can talk…
I’m sure many- all?- of you are in a similar situation. Isolated in your home, cautious of the outdoors, downright fearful of would-be weekly tasks like grocery shopping. This is a strange and scary time. I’ve been doing a lot of checking in with others, making sure they are taken care of. Sending surprise flowers, tiny painting deliveries, random messages to let friends know I am thinking of them. But I’m starting to realize- not through the deep contemplative all of this “free” time imposes on us- but in the physical weakness I feel pulling at my guts tonight, that I have not checked in with myself.
When the ballet shut down for one week, I smirked at the overly optimistic decision. When rehearsals were further suspended another seven days, I knew it would be much longer. With this foresight, when the season was cancelled, I was sad, but staid. Now, almost a month later, from what feels like the clear blue sky, I feel shaken.
As I write this, I feel the need to point out how privileged I am to even have this yearning. To be able to do something that I love so much that I feel heartbroken to have it cut short. This in itself is evidence of my overwhelming privilege, and this is before we note all of the things that I still do have- my health, a beautiful home, a safe family, a loving and supportive boyfriend…
But tonight I am allowing myself to feel some bad feelings. I am letting myself feel a bit empty. Despite all of those things I do have filling my cup and floating me up, I am letting myself sink just a bit. I am writing down some sad thoughts in a time when everyone else’s struggle has seemed far more grave and important than my own. I am having a good cry, a cup of tea, and pancakes for dinner. And you know what? I feel better already.