hibernating and emerging

Today is January. Still January. Tomorrow is February. 

January was hibernation. February will be emergence. 

January has been the darkest days of the pandemic. This is not where we were meant to be; this is not what we were promised. It is meaningless to predict. 

Last January, it was dark. We were still wandering in the valley of death – but climbing towards the faint light as dawn broke high in that valley. Vaccines were coming. On July 4th, our intention was to celebrate our independence from the virus. 

In January, I am working from home again. I stay home. I don’t eat out at any restaurants in DC. I don’t visit a museum. I don’t attend an event. I hibernate. 

In January, I leave the United States - and my hibernation - for four days for a wedding across the Atlantic. This wedding is another motivation for hibernation. I run there, and then I run home. 

Still, tomorrow is February, and now it’s time to slowly emerge. 

The universities in DC re-open. I have tickets for events this month with speakers from across the globe and cabinet secretaries. They might be canceled, but I am trying to emerge. 

Soon, I’ll travel to Mexico City, and unlike my last sprint across the ocean, I’ll take my time to enjoy the city, the pause, and the warmth. 

I’ll rebook tickets to the Kennedy Center. Performances that were rescheduled because of COVID-19. 

In January, I sought power in routine - yoga videos and cooking grounded me. 

Sometimes I “succeeded”, other times, I kept the wheels in motion and nothing more. 

What am I going to fail at this month? This semester? What can I let go of as the pain of the pandemic, which still rages, takes so much of my energy. 

I’ll slowly emerge. I won’t jump from happy hours to as many speaker events as possible. It’s still winter. Be slow. In March, in the earliest days of spring, when the light is easier to find, I hope to be out in the world, again.

Martin Luther King Jr. Day