Where Has Time Gone?Hello Subscriber First Name, OOF! The last time I pulled my thoughts together for my monthly newsletter three months ago, it was early Spring. It’s now mid-July. Where has the time gone? Ever since COVID, our relationship with time has been shaken. The pandemic upended our sense of normalcy, and how we experienced ourselves in the world. Everything changed. We changed too—we’re still finding our way through the transition. Although much in our lives has returned to normal, the world around us is anything but. I’m constantly grappling with the dissonance of my normal day-to-day activities and my awareness of the fear, danger, and horror I know exists for so many others. How can I hold these two realities? My awareness of the pain other people are experiencing changes my sense of my what is happening in my life. It’s as if I’m in two places at once: seeing the world through two very different lenses. It’s dizzying. And yet, this is where we are. More than ever, I’m sensing how connected we are to the people and events across our country and beyond. Take today—I’m finally able to return to my newsletter, because of the Canadian wildfires. Rather than being outside, enjoying an afternoon with my dear friend Liz, I’m holed up in our house, sitting on the couch, protected from the heavy smoky air. Even though the fires are thousands of miles away, the smoke is disrupting the lives of everyone across the northern swath of our country. Although I’m safely inside, I’m feeling unsettled. In one moment, I’m thinking how the smoke must be far more horrible for the humans and animals living closer to the flames. I’m wondering what it’s like to breathe in the acrid, heavy air that stings your eyes, and saps your energy. In the next moment, I’m feeling guilty because I’m relieved to have an excuse to sit on the couch and finally have the chance to catch up on my newsletter. How do I hold these two opposing thoughts? I don’t know. I’m hoping that if I continue typing, I’ll find my way. Part of the guilt is about summer in New England. After a long hard winter, there is a sense of deep urgency to spend every moment of a summer day outside. In this week’s New York Times Saturday Morning Newsletter, Melissa Kirsch captured some of this in her guilt-tinged reflection: There’s a particular kind of pressure on summer weekends to get up and get out, to do something worthy of the bounty of warmth and light. The options are picturesque and limitless . . . It’s enough, some weekends, to make you wish for a rainy day. . . . [We] feel a little bullied by summer’s mandate to exploit the day. . . . the guilt is real. . . . I’m painfully aware there are a mere 16 weekends, and the squandering of even one can feel wasteful. My internal taskmaster prods me off the couch. . . . Ahh. . . . I’m not alone in my guilty resistance to sitting on the couch in July. And yet, how fortunate that THIS is my day’s frustration. Yes, this month’s newsletter is rambling and looking for a clear path to resolution . . . without quite landing on firm ground. Maybe that’s the point. Seems we are being invited to broaden our awareness, to hold multiple opposing truths, and to consider our connections to the wider world we cannot see, but sense nevertheless.
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