And This Too Shall Pass

This week I attended a five-day national writers conference with over 4500 other attendees. I sat a mere two feet from every one of the twenty presenters. I wore my comfortable clothes, sipped coffee in the morning and red wine during the late afternoon sessions, getting up to stretch when I needed to. The presenters were brilliant, witty and, most importantly, relaxed. All of us were participating from the comfort and safety of our own homes.

What an opportunity! The amount of online content that’s available right now is astounding—some free, some at a very reasonable cost. I wouldn’t have attended that particular conference under normal circumstances due to cost and distance. I would have had to paid over $800, plus hotel, food, and travel. But instead, I paid $100, slept in my own bed, ate my own food and only had to travel sixteen steps downstairs to my office to attend a conference of national caliber.

How lucky we are right now to have a tremendous number of resources at the click of our fingertips. Amidst the horrors of the pandemic, there are so many bright spots of sharing and caring. How much will remain once a reliable and safe vaccine returns our world to normal?  The slower pace, the world-wide connection of humans, quieter streets, less pollution, more overt kindness, more time spent with our children? Will Zoom get-togethers still connect far-flung friends and family? Will business owners and employees realize the benefits of full or partial work-from-home?

I’m fortunate that the virus has not seriously affected anyone close to me. My heart hurts for those who’ve lost family, friends, jobs, or whose lives have taken an unfortunate detour. In the face of that, I feel a bit superficial mentioning the things that I miss: seeing smiles; listening to live music at Sea Pines; movies at The Bay; getting together in person with my writers group and other friends; family reunions; volunteering at Woods; the Cayucos  4th of July parade; the Sea Glass Festival; early breakfast in a warm, bustling Sea Shanty; traveling; the simple enjoyment of shopping for groceries.

When all of this is behind us, I will not miss wearing a mask that steams up my glasses. I will not miss the crowded beach, though I’m grateful we have the perfect place for families to stretch their legs in the cool fresh air. I will not miss the twinge of wariness toward fellow human beings. I will not miss the chronic anxiety when reading about lives lost, or lives seriously disrupted.

I will, however, appreciate even more those simple things in life that I took for granted. Hopefully, they will all return—and sit side-by-side with all the good things that have come out of a bad situation.

And this too shall pass. Unfortunate times always do.