I Am Not Writing Right Now.

"Are you writing during this time?" my friend asked.

"No," I answered.

"Don't you think you should?" she asked.

"I don't know," I answered.

My friend. She knows me. She loves me. She knows that writing is my therapy. She knows that it is what I do when I am working through challenges in life. "Don't you think you should?"

She also knows that if she plants that little seed in my ear, it will more than likely grab hold of some part of this brain and grow it's little roots in every part of my being . . . until . . . I write.

Damn.

Friends.

;)

I am not writing right now.

Because, for the past 11 years, I have taken pride in always finding a way to the positive during rather dark and dismal times. Yes, I do that. I try to see through the challenges and find the silver lining.

But right now, I can't do that. Because right now, the emotions I have swirling in my head don't seem to have silver linings. And that sucks.

Sure . . . I can write about how awesome it is being together; my kids, husband and me. I can write about how much fun it has been having family dinners again, and all being under the same roof all day long, and watching (truly . . . looking out the window and watching) Spring arrive, and cooking again, and playing games, and watching movies . . . taking time to do all the things that we wish we had time to do, but never have. Yes. I could fine the positive in it. And I do. I see it. I feel it.

But . . .

I am scared.

No . . . we do not have the virus. And holy crap - I thank God every day for that. But even though my immediate and extended families are not suffering . . . (and believe me, I truly do count that as the #1 blessing) . . . I am scared.

I am scared for my husband - who has spent the last 22 years giving his heart and soul to an industry, and having no idea what is going to become of this industry when it is all over. Yesterday he received his second reduction in hours and pay since this Covid-19 virus surfaced. This second blow . . . it hit him hard. I am scared that he is going to fall into a depression that I cannot help him through - because I may very well be right there next to him in it. I am afraid that when this is done, he will have to find his way to a new career, and I can't imagine how scary that may be for him - a father, a husband, a provider. I am scared that he is stressed to the max, and from my own little bubble - I don't have any idea on how to help him.

I am scared for my daughters. For their health, for their lives, for their education, for what the memories of this time will look like in their life stories.

I am scared for the friends whose jobs have been completely furloughed and whose livelihoods have been brought to a complete halt . . . friends who are trying so very hard to begin their next chapters in life, and who can't take those steps so necessary for themselves.

I am scared for family who is in the THICK of this virus on the east coast. I worry for them daily . . . no . . . hourly . . . .  and only find relief when I can see the whites of their eyes during a daily nighttime Facetime call when I see that they are safe. 

I am scared for my mother. My in-laws. All those who have fragile health, as it is. And worry - what if they catch this awful thing . . . how can we keep them safe? Are we doing all we can? What else can we do?

I am scared for my little shoppe. An art shoppe created by me and my sister. A shoppe we worked so hard to create. A dream. A shoppe that has saved me for the past year since my sister died. A shoppe that, in my heart of heart, is not going to survive this. And coming to that realization . . . oh, it just sucks.

I am scared for our country, for the economy . . . and for all the other little businesses in our world that will not make it. All the other little dreams that may be shattered because of this.

I am scared. Just plan scared.

And uncertain. And stressed. And overwhelmed. And tired. And fragile. And . . . lost.

I sit at my table in the living room every day. This is my new "art shoppe". I am so grateful that Phil doesn't mind that I have taken over this space in the house. It is full of the most colorful chaos . . . just like every well functioning art environment should be. I don't know what I am doing here. I sit at my table and make journals, draw, do whatever I can to just . . . feel . . . something other than fear. Some days I can get far enough away in my creative thoughts to forget what is happening outside that window. Other days, not so much . . . as I sit here, shuffling art supplies and printed papers from one pile to the next. Just to do . . . something. Some days I stare at a leaf outside - the very same leaf everyday - that has hung on to the tree right outside my window all winter long. I stare at this little leaf as it moves with each gust of wind that passes it and I will it to just . . . hang on. Because I feel like that, too. Like we are all just trying to hang on.

So . . . No. I am not writing, right now.

But maybe . . . just maybe, tomorrow I will.

Thinking of you all, dear friends.

And sending you peace.
xo