Quarantine

“This is hard. I hurt. If you’re hurting, too, you’re not alone.”

-R.O. Kwon

When this PAUSE (Policies to Assure Uniform Safety for Everyone) began, I was ready for a rest.  Even though the first few weeks were scary, I welcomed the not going anywhere. I had been driving from the Bronx to 139th Street to drop off two kids, then to 169th to drop off another, then to the garage, where I'd wait in line for twenty minutes, and then to the studio.

At 3pm I’d begin that journey again, in reverse.

Then we’d all get home, do homework, figure out dinner, and by 7pm I’d be toast.

Why do I tell you that?

Because I would love to be doing that again. Like, RIGHT NOW. My mind is generating all the thoughts about what I want to do but can’t, but it is also reprimanding me for these thoughts when so many are suffering.

My mind is out of control.  On the other hand, I've not taken this good care of myself in ages. I’m doing things that should have me feeling good all the damn time. 

Yet I don’t feel good all the damn time. Right now I feel sad and lethargic and not at all interested in moving my body. In fact, if I didn’t have three kids, I would go back to bed...for the weekend.

Today I am cranky. 

Also:

I love my kids!

I am tired of my kids.

I love my house!

I am tired of my house.

I love not having anything to do.

I am tired of this groundhog day.

I’m excited because I made a yoga studio video set in my basement!  

I miss my beautiful yoga studio.

I’m inspired to create a video library for my community!

Holy shit...I’m making a video library?

Thank you to Elizabeth Velazquez for sending me this powerful NYT piece reminding me that what I am feeling is grief. Grief manifests differently in people. For me, I'm okay, then I'm not. I’m grateful and patient, then I'm yelling at my kids. I’m excited and inspired about new ideas and projects, then I’m exhausted by them. I can’t wait to re-open the studio, but the prospect of it overwhelms me.

Perhaps my message to you today is not as uplifting as it is connecting. We are all sharing this storm. We are all in some kind of pain. It is important to acknowledge this and share it.  Pain, in whatever form it takes, should be processed. It should be spoken, felt, named, and fully expressed. 

And so I'll remind myself today:

I am resilient, as are you. 

I will be okay, as will you. 

I will feel better again, as will you. 

I am grateful for all experiences; they make us who we are.