Sitting outside on the back porch, sipping from a glass of wine, watching my cat who thinks he’s a dog and my dog who thinks he’s part cat play in the sun. The bars are all closed, the craft stores have locked their doors, and social gatherings have become limited. Sitting outside, with warm rays of light grazing my skin, finally no chilling breeze to force the use of an unwanted jacket. The windchimes throughout this neighborhood call those on their couches to the grass, bursting forth underneath all the layers of winter brown, encouraging our windows to open and welcome the warmth. Urging us all to pull out that dust-laden outdoor furniture from the back of our garage, and sit in the sunlight. We arrive, finally, to the smell of spring and the eventual wing-beats of hummingbirds, madly flitting to their sugared delights. Silence isn’t what we thought it would be- the sullen void of desolation consistent with complete deprivation- no this is colorful silence, the type we were born to hear and admire and long for in the iced-over days of winter.
We sit outside, ride our bikes, run through the mountains, and feel the air gratefully inflate our lungs, and we find that sense of comfort and rest we had been missing during the mad rush of “normal.” The little bits we had forgotten existed- because we spent so much time running from one errand, job, event to another- have started to grab our attention again. It’s a different world. And, without our volition, we are being urged to take a much-needed moment, and listen to the beauty of this new reality we find ourselves in. When you go to the grocery store, pass runners or bikers on a trail, call clients over the phone because in-person consultations are no longer appropriate- people have started to realize the changes. With these changes, inexplicably, we rise as dormant wildflowers in new dirt, with barely a hope of actually taking life, and create something beautiful. In finding silence through isolation, in the quiet that our vibrant world has to offer, we have found our joy of human life again, we have found our gratitude and with luck, will never forget it in all the rest of our long years.
Something to practice in the coming days and weeks is appreciation. Forget the stress of why we are here and what is waiting outside your home, and focus on the good. Look at the little things people in your circle are doing. In my case, technicians and their family members have been creating artistic homemade masks for everyone at the clinic; grocery store lines will see kind workers offering you water while you wait to enter because of their 25 person maximum rule; strangers conversing with strangers because we all have something in common and maybe that means we are all a little closer than before; families out on walks reconnecting after years of qualifying ‘sitting in front of the TV’ as their “family time,” and a new appreciation for the older family members you can’t see right now because you’re an essential worker, and their life is more important than that hug you so desperately need.
When we all get back to our version of normal, may we remember the days we spent sitting and breathing, with nowhere to go and nothing to do, and appreciate how simple and calming it was.
As much as we all needed this time to heal and grow, myself included, one thing I desperately look forward to once normalcy stabilizes again, is a New Mexican Enchilada from one of those small hole-in-the-wall places scattered throughout this state. A place with ristras hanging on the outside, handwritten lettering on the door saying “welcome,” and homemade salsa and chips waiting at your table, a place where the enchiladas are smothered in green chile and cheese with freshly-made rolled tortillas, and spicy guacamole, refried beans, and Spanish rice, with a sopapilla seeping honey for dessert. If your mouth isn’t watering over that, you haven’t tried the right New Mexican food yet.
Until next time.
Whitney
Veterinary Limbo 