Nobody’s Feeling Fine

“Everyone’s pretending to be just fine,” said my friend. “But we’re not. It’s getting to us.”

I had to agree. As for causes, take your pick. Cumulative effects of the pandemic? Cumulative effects of the shocking stupidity and selfishness that the pandemic has exposed? The political situation in our country? The perilous deterioration of our global environment? The looming shadow of a war in Europe? Or even just our personal losses and woes, our bodies wearing down, our spirits flagging. It’s hard to stay chipper.

And that isn’t a very inspiring premise for a blog post, but I’ve been neglecting this journal, and I know that writing helps me get a handle on things, even when I’m bogged down. So here I am. I took that picture in Berlin several years ago, and the huge ominous hand lurking behind the artist sort of captures the anxiety and foreboding I’ve been feeling.

By and large, the usual remedies, balms and distractions still hold. I’ve never returned from a walk feeling anything but better, even if just slightly. The splashes of rainbows on the wall right now still fill me with delight, my coffee is good and strong, and there’s a broken plate of moon above the bright green hills. Lupines are showing their bright purple faces, and the macadamia trees are in blossom, and when I go outside, to paraphrase Niall Williams, all of me kneels down, the windows of the chapel of myself are lit with every candle. Meanwhile, friendships offer connection and commiseration, and these seem more important than ever, and I’m finally on a roll for writing here, but I just remembered that a dozen women are going to show up in an hour for a hike, and I better get myself ready. I’ll be back soon.