Just At Present

"The great divide
A stitch in time
Then we recombine
The way it was
Well, dust to dust
Has led us here to collide" 
 - The Great Divide, by The Shins

Here we are, not quite on the other side but closer to it. Here we are, not the same as we were but not entirely changed, either. Here we are, as always; reveries and scrutinies of the past, our walls filling up with the hopeful notations of our plans for the future, as we rush or linger through each new day. 

Even when we don't realize it, in all those previous non-pandemic years, there is the continuance of change. We wake up to a world changed from yesterday, we walk around in it, and we change it with our actions or inactions. We can think it's the same as before even when it's not, for there have been births and deaths, disasters both natural and man-made, the moon is waxing or waning, crops are growing or dying, tides are rising or falling, and choices are being made which will ripple forward like the varied pieces in a Rube Goldberg machine. 

Nevertheless, this year feels different. There's a nervous tingle of anticipation in the air as we see concert lineups returning and crowds gathering and growing in size. Even so, we pause to check before going in for a handshake or hug, noting societal rules which were taken up last year and have yet to be fully set aside. Maybe we carry a handful of caution yet long for reckless abandon, or at least I do. I want to get lost in a crowd of strangers all straining towards the same performance stage. I've had distance for too long; I want theme parks and too-tight hugs and a little discomfort and risk. I want to have discussions in person rather than arguments online. I want gratitude and openness over pessimism and distrust. I want a wild and cacophonous returning, with the making of fresh new memories in the future of the past.  

Here we are, in stages of grief or joy or a cocktail of both. Online there is an aura of division and confusion, yet step into the world and feel a new breath of returning, a sigh of relief, and an inhale of expectancy. For each, it is different, and for some, the changes they've experienced permeate every aspect. Some steps forward may be tentative, tinged in sadness or concern. It's alright. May we be gentle and understanding. May we listen well and find commonality past any differences. The experience of being human is intricate and messy. May we remember this, seeking gratitude, compassion, and kindness as our guide. 

Here we are, having learned about bread baking and online meetings and the types and amounts of human interaction we need in order to thrive. What will we chose to carry with us going forward? Who will we decide to be, given the chance to re-examine ourselves while braving all of our tomorrows? In this brief time on earth, we can choose many things, including to believe in the goodness rooted deep in most people. We can choose grace and mercy and can expect to find pinpricks of light within every blanket of darkness. We dream and do and carry on through it all. Here we are.