I can write a few sentences at a time. A few words to a friend, a response to stimuli. I can work on projects that are already in motion, for work and for school, briefly.
I can post another picture of my dog to instagram. (Then scroll through people's stories for half an hour.)
This spring was meant to be about reconnecting, to my people and to myself. About journaling and meditation, about video calls and game nights. I need these things now more than ever, I'm finding, and my focus is shot and it's hard to connect to myself when I'm scared and overwhelmed. My enthusiasm for projects both new and old waxes and wanes, unpredictably? Semipredictably.
How can I nurture the soft, sweet belly of my being when "I" feels like an abstract concept? When the immediate impulses of my being are at odds with the care I want to give myself? When there is a global crisis going on and my ego wants to be doing something "productive" about it?
In some notes I took about a class text way back in January, I wrote:
What if, instead of attempting to reduce uncertainty, we strive to deal with uncertainty better? To embrace learning and becoming with no end goal in sight?
I did not expect these words to be so resonant and applicable to all of life, just three months later; I knew they were applicable in the moment and always. This crisis has removed the veil of certainty I was lucky enough to surround myself with, and even still I am lucky. I am grateful. I am not (currently) in crisis, my life is stable.
It is enough.