Many years ago, I travelled to visit an elderly relative at her cozy apartment in a small town. I knocked at her door, and she greeted me with a hug, her fervent grasp evidencing how much she missed me. I was a little misty-eyed, as well.
We settled into her cheerful living room, cluttered with the accumulations of a life well-lived. Our conversation flowed with the familiar warmth of people who have known and loved each other for decades. Her spritely tone and vibrant humor shone through the gloom of the room. Despite this, something was off. Then it occurred to me: though the sun was shining brightly in a cloudless sky, all the shades were drawn. The window coverings sheltered my friend from the brilliant light and, I suspect, from a world that was becoming too complex for her frail self to grasp.
I did not understand her desire to be protected from the outside world then, but I do now. The pandemic required me to shutter socially. For almost all of 2020, and a good part of 2021, outings with family were clumsy get-togethers at dog parks and outdoor venues. Events with friends were almost completely out of the question due to rational – and irrational – health concerns. When life began to re-open, I found myself reluctant to engage but I did not know why. Once I was vaccinated, I did not feel frightened by the virus; instead, I felt moored to my home for reasons of lassitude. Inertia felt safe and protective, like a warm down jacket zippered all the way up to my chin.
But familiar nudges of optimism began to emerge, like a winter-blooming cherry tree, whose blossoms colorfully clash with a blinding snowfall. Last month, when prodded, my husband and I went out to dinner with friends, timidly walking into a restaurant and removing our face masks like ungainly teenagers. Several weeks later, we attended an outdoor concert and soon after, rallied at a college football game. We recently dined at the home of good friends, relishing the warm and familiar camaraderie. Lately I attended a retirement party for a client and gathered for an outdoor lunch with lawyer pals. I flew to the east coast for the 100th birthday party of a beloved aunt, braving crowds of masked travelers who approached each other with hesitant timidity.
I am back in the social game now – well, at least as much as I ever have been. I need to view my calendar to see if I am available for outings instead of immediately responding, “we’re free!” And as crazy as it sounds, I have had to decline a few invitations due to prior commitments.
A couple of months ago, I began to research a bike ride along an abandoned rail trail in Washington state, now endowed as a state-owned park. I felt a bit gutless and apprehensive about the task. It is one thing to accept an invitation that will be completed in a couple of hours; it is quite another to plan a three-day trip with three other couples. I inspected my reluctance with the precision that I usually reserve for searching out new wrinkles in my middle-aged face. What I found was that the pandemic hibernation augmented my fundamentally introverted personality.
Once I knew that I was just wimping out on organizing a trip, I kicked into high gear. I emailed rental bike outfitters, researched trails and points of interest, and fiddled with logistics and preparations. Rounding up our active and well-travelled buddies, and aligning their calendars, made herding stray cats look like directing elderly tortoises.
Don and I spent this past weekend bustling around feverishly at our cabin, the site for night two of our adventure. Planning for six guests to dine and spend the night seemed to require as much organization as preparing for a small army to winter in place. My amiable and hard-working spouse accepted my to-do list with expected geniality. We blew pine needles off patios, cleaned bathrooms, changed lightbulbs, replaced batteries in remotes, washed and freshened bedding, and bulked up on beer and soft drinks. Don hung new blinds in the bedroom windows, which we stood and admired as though they were investitures installed in an art museum.
We completed all our tasks; nothing but the passage of several days’ time stood between us and our three-day biking excursion. We took one long and meticulous look at our vacation home and its wooded surroundings before walking to our car to drive home.
At the last minute, I ran back through the house and gently raised all the window blinds to let the light shine in. Gratitude and radiance illuminated me.