The almost-post-pandemic cliché question arose at a gathering I attended online, the spiritually-minded people each at home cross-legged on cushions. I sat more comfortably on a couch. Recently, my nerves have been bundled and frayed at the ends like severed electrical wires. When someone posed the question, I was understandably afraid of catching on fire. All year long, I’ve been putting my best face forward, seeking out opportunities for in-person visits at a safe distance, joining groups on Zoom in the hopes of learning something, of feeling connected to a world I can’t touch anymore and can barely see. I use the telephone like I used to in the ancient history of my youth, when phones attached to the wall were all we had. Back then, all long-distance conversations were faceless. “What good has come from this pandemic year for you?” Which face on the screen had asked this? My eyes were closed when the voice needled, soft-toned and sincere, into my ear. Now my whole body tensed, some master switch tripped off inside me. I couldn’t feel a thing. But I was wearing my best face. Not my less-than-optimal face, my dysphoric face, my reasonable-to-be-indignant-and-full-of-rage-at-the-world face: they held perfectly still. Perhaps my sudden stillness signaled spiritual progress, some growth in my practice of equanimity. Or, did it reveal denial of my true feelings? My resignation to the American cult of positivity? Within me, I heard myself protesting: “It’s too early for a question like that! Growth, shmowth. I’m still in this thing.” Besides, can we meaningfully describe effects of the pandemic on people as good simply because they are not horrifying, terrible, exhausting? Judging experiences as good or bad simplifies life and its richness into opaque categories. It belies complexities. “There has been so little to plan for,” I offered, when it was my turn to speak. “I have truly learned to live one day at a time, each day seeming complete within itself, a chance to live truly into the present moment.” “Like Groundhog Day!” someone chirped. Yes, absolutely. We all know the story: the plight of a cantankerous reporter caught in an idyllic town, his alarm clock flipping into action every day, the same day, at 6:00AM playing the same song. But who knows how long Bill Murray’s character lives trapped in this psychic time warp of one day repeating itself? The answer is clear: until he learns to appreciate his life, to respect and be grateful for the people he knows, to love his girlfriend. What we always seem to forget when we speak so fondly of this film is that, at a certain point in the drama, our hero takes pains to kill himself. He tries, over and over and over again. He experiments, continuing to commit suicide in alarming ways. Yet every “next” morning he wakes, incredulous. In hell, life keeps foisting itself on him. The nourishing elements of life he will become aware of later on already exist alongside the painful and defeating ones. They abide together in this day our friend wants so desperately to escape. Times of stress, of change, have always demanded I try to live one day at a time, bearing one moment at a time. That’s all we’ve got anyway, and it’s all I can handle. This year of the pandemic has been one long alarm, waking me each day to face myself, the insipid elements tangled up with the inspired. I try to take charge of my wires. I attempt to splice them with the junction boxes of patience and wisdom. What good has come out of this pandemic year for me? One more day. Karen Jessee Please offer your responses and comments below, then consider sharing this post with a friend.
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2 Comments
Casey Gregg
4/12/2021 07:57:28 pm
Ah yes, the efforts to control one's face during the pandemic zoom meetings. It's a challenge, I like this because you address the difficulty of remaining positive during a rough year, that seeing the positive doesn't mean ignoring the negative. Have to agree.
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Steve
4/18/2021 05:13:53 pm
Thank you Karen, it is always good to hear from your pen. You "say" it so well and so true. My prayer is that life will continue to foist itself on all of us, the nourishing moments as well as the painful ones, as you've noted. Maybe if we can learn to appreciate both we will realize the silly notion that Time can become and what our culture has bought into concerning its good and not so good qualities. Many are asking these days, "What is Truth?" That's always a good question to entertain. I wonder however if the moment is not also ripe to be asking, "What is Time?"
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