Growing up in Texas meant we didn’t really have seasons so much as we had varying degrees of hot, less hot, blast furnace, and the gates of hell. I didn’t understand what my partner meant when he said that Texas was very brown and decidedly not green like Virginia (where he’s from). I was like, we have trees, we have grass, look green!
And then I visited the DC area one spring. LUSH was the word that came to mind as we drove along the George Washington Memorial Parkway. Who knew there could be so many shades of green? And the cherry blossoms, my word. Mother Nature puts on a show y’all.
Over the last 5 years in VA, I’ve come to appreciate the transitions from one season to another. I love the newness and freshness that spring brings after a sleepy, cocooning winter of simmering stews and hot noodle soup.
This whole pandemic has meant I’ve spent much of my last 13 months indoors, like an extended winter. Spring surprised me this year… it feels weird. Usually, I revel in the arrival of spring, ready for sundresses and sandals. But this year, I just want to hit the snooze button on spring and wrap myself up in a few more layers. It’s warm and cozy and I feel safe in here, you know? Afterall, what will the post-pandemic world be like?
We got our first vaccine dose two weeks ago (I cried when I received the email from the county to schedule my appointment) and started dreaming again of places we want to go, where to eat, who to see. While it took me a minute to recognize the fluttery feelings I felt as hope, I was surprised by the overwhelm and anxiety that accompanied it. It’s not unlike the surge I felt at the beginning of the pandemic (remember when we hoped it would be all over by summer, last year?). Survival mode adrenaline + hope is a heady mix.
Just as we transitioned into survival mode going into the pandemic, adapting to new ways of living, adjusting how we work, socialize, and do life – coming out of the pandemic will also be a period of transition. Maybe this spring feels weird because not only are we transitioning to a new season, but we’re also transitioning into post-pandemic life. Change upon change after a year of griefs upon griefs is just a lot.
As much as I would like for someone to snap their fingers and announce, yes, the pandemic is officially over, there won’t be a clear mark for the end of the pandemic, just as there wasn’t a clear beginning. Sure, there will come a day when the WHO declares it over, but I’m thinking more along the lines of when will my nervous system know, when will my body tell me, yes, the pandemic is really over. I wonder if it will be when I eat inside a restaurant for the first time or when I have friends visit inside my house for dinner for the first time? The first time I board a plane again? What’s it going to take?
Maybe it won’t be the first time I do something, but the first time I no longer have to do something that has marked this pandemic season. Until then, I’m easing back into things, gently defrosting myself, peeling off all the layers of my cocoon, dusting off social skills, and coaxing movement back into these joints.
I look forward to when I can cook everyone spaghetti again,
Marsha