On Wednesday this week, I got a last-minute, impromptu text message from one of my sons wanting to know if Don and I were free for dinner. It was my birthday, and though we had planned a family get-together for the weekend, it was a fun and spontaneous invitation. I finished up at work and rushed from my office and drove to the selected restaurant. The parking lot and the surroundings streets were overflowing, and the wait list was too long. We changed venues and just barely grabbled the last available table.
The world has awakened. The outdoor seating at Starbucks this morning was packed full of singles and families, kids and dogs. People shuffled around with masks half off and half on, dangling from ears or wrists or being absentmindedly stuffed into pockets. I listened to bright conversation, spirits sparkling with newfound life. I recognized full frontal faces that revealed broad smiles.
Travel is back in our minds again. Yesterday our biking buddy group settled on a date for a trip to Portugal in May 2022. When we postponed the Spring 2020 event, I was certain we would be able to go in the fall. A depressing reality settled in as the adventure got pushed further and further away. We shouldered through disappointment with adult resignation, mollifying ourselves that our health was more important than a vacation. But the unfortunate truth was that we did not have a choice.
The roadways are bustling once more. Highway traffic has exploded, a fact that annoys me but also reminds me that people are going out – to work, to bars, to social events, to appointments. The busy hum of transit has become a subtle, almost comforting, backdrop to a transformed consciousness.
The biggest shift has been in my state of mind: absolutely-not somehow changed to improbable and was replaced by maybe. And today I feel like my pedestrian pandemic life has been given a booster shot of possibility. Every cell seems freshly primed. I look around my house and think of novel paint colors, different kitchen cabinets, and updated hardware. For the first time in over a year, I think about buying new clothes, wondering what shoe styles are in vogue and what clothing racks and display cases showcase.
This morning I hugged my sister-in-law for the first time in ages when we met at the animal rescue where she was picking up her newly adopted kitty. She had lost her 20-year-old cat at the peak of the pandemic, and even after she emerged from grief, her world was not open to the prospect of another pet. The weight of loss – layered on top of an existence constrained by a virus – enveloped her.
Something turned in the last couple of weeks, for her and for all of us. Potential has displaced doubt, and confidence has ousted inaction. The perfect little furry friend – the last in the litter – fortuitously became available. An interminable wait of three weeks ensued for adoption application approval and veterinary care.
As the diminutive and frightened little gray tabby was placed in her eager arms, my sister-in-law’s heart opened and healed. And for me, the budding possibility of a reborn world has restored my soul.