I’m covering myself up with this beautiful plaid Pendleton-like blanket I inherited from this old couple who’d lived across the street from us in the 70s and 80s, named Bill and Margaret. They took a shine to me and my sister, making us ice cream sodas and showering love. It’s obvious I’m wrapping myself in that comfort, covering up with this woolen blanket, fringe falling off, a woven memory.
The chill of early Spring brings on the physical need to cover up, but the emotional toil of what’s happening equally brings on a need. For many the blanket comes in prayer and spiritual communion; for some yoga, meditation, creativity. Of course, our comfort can come in all these things, and we’ve been given a unique opportunity to practice even more, in a way we would never have before. Tangled up in life’s busyness, in our self-importance, we’d not see the beauty of taking significant time with our selves. I think in some cases there are those who struggle with the quiet and with who they’re encountering within themselves. Facing your less than best self is humbling, a bitter swig.
Fortunate for us, in the media age, we can connect faster than ever. I am humbled and grateful for smart, savvy, humorous friends with whom I chat regularly, checking in on each other from afar, and with family connectivity across the continent. It’s a little miracle helping us bear the burden of time and fear. I pray we remain safe and healthy, but even more, I pray we remember this lesson of savoring connection, time, and meeting our souls where they are, even when we return to whatever our new normal will be beyond this moment.