Kate Oliverのインスタグラム(birchandpine) - 3月26日 00時05分

I am having to open the calendar to know what day it is, to keep me on track. If I didn’t have to work, I’d not even look. I think that would help, to not know how slowly the days are going...how it feels like an entire week passes within the hours I am awake.
So much happens in the world, so many more cases and deaths, more political chaos, more people who won’t stay home as we do, waiting for the day to come when it’s safe again.
Two weeks has felt like a lifetime, and I am trying to find my way in all of it. I haven’t run since my last day on the indoor track: two weeks and two days ago, the run that I ended early as I questioned the safety of being at the gym. Just getting through the day requires every ounce of energy, though I miss the pounding of my feet below me. I’ve never been one of those people who can keep going as if nothing has changed (when everything has). The days will be slow because we are waiting for life to resume as we know it. It’s impatience and grief and longing and fear and uncertainty wrapped around the daily tasks of living. It is fear as I cook dinner, impatience as I read the news, grief as I pull my running shoes from the drawer by the door, unable to actually put them on yet. It is longing as I look out the window at the road, uncertainty as I try to write.
And then it is compassion as I see friends struggling as their gigs and jobs get canceled, and hope as the birds sing and the flowers push from the cold, muddy earth, gratitude for the deadlines that mean my book is still on track, gentleness as our daughter asks questions and expresses her own anxieties late at night, curled against our chests. It is joy when the sun shines, and the warmer breezes blow, it is elation, at the videos of couples being married anyway, babies born, people singing together, people taking care of one another.
At the end of each day, as I climb into bed with a racing heart that my wife calms through her fingertips on my back, as she has done from our earliest days, fifteen years ago, I check the date. It is still the same day that it was that morning.

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