A Letter to My Son Conceived in 2020

In early November 2020, I found out I was pregnant with my first (and so far only) child. At 42, I felt like this was my one and only chance to bring a child into this world…it just so happened that the world never felt as tumultuous and scary as it did to me then. My pregnancy was so easy that sometimes I didn’t believe it was really happening, and I often would not allow myself to think too far ahead, to what it would be like to hold this child in my arms. I was so afraid that I’d never reach that point. Then, in February 2020, on the day I received my first dose of the Covid vaccine after much internal debating, I allowed myself to reflect on what I wanted my son to know about this time…and what I wanted it to mean for him. You can read the piece here.

What do you do when nothing seems right?

What do you do when nothing seems right?

Unable to touch

Disembodied faces staring through screens

Words from afar find your ears

Past participles

Already reminiscent of times not long past

Smiles now covered by grief

And masks

What do you do when nothing seems right?

Longing for touch

But settling for sight

Keep looking...

Beyond this feeling

Past this time

Moving forward, back

Underneath, above

Connection is there

Where its always been

Just waiting

In a field of loving awareness

Fear and Connection

My typical Saturday includes taking my dear friend, Kathy’s yoga class at 7:30 AM and then teaching at 9:00...but this was not a typical Saturday.  As we started Kathy’s class in supta baddha konasana, I closed my eyes and the tears flowed.  As is often the case, my body told me something was wrong before my mind could pinpoint what it was.  I let the tears flow and just inquired.  What is happening behind these tears?  I realized that I was thinking about teaching my class without hands on assists.  There was some doubt there.  Will I accidentally touch someone because I’m so used to doing it? Will I just be walking around aimlessly?  Yes, doubt was present, but that didn’t seem to be it.  I kept going...Touch.  What is it about touch?  Touch is physical connection.  It is often how we show affection, how we care for each other.  In my family, we rarely greet each other without a hug.  I am 41-years-old...and I still sit on my mother’s lap...and I’ll do it till she makes me stop. 

Touch is the physical manifestation of connection.  As my thoughts have been drawn to this virus more and more over the past week and especially the past two days, I keep coming back to how it shows interdependence, interconnectedness.  We are a global community, and that is how this virus has spread like wildfire. Connection leading to a pandemic...pandemic leading to...fear.  Oh my, yes.  Fear.  What do I crave when I feel fear? Care. Compassion. Connection. Touch.  Can it be?  Is this fear? 

As I let this sit (while I was in the ultimate crying pose, half pigeon), I realized that I have been validating others’ fear...and neglecting my own.  I don’t know how many times I have repeated, “I am fine.  I will be fine.” And, honestly...I believe it to be true.  I am (relatively) young and very healthy.  I’m so privileged that I am unlikely to be financially devastated by this. And, honestly...I’m also afraid. I am afraid that someone I love will contract this virus. I am afraid that many more people are going to suffer.  I am afraid that people will lose their businesses...and many will lose their lives, many already have.  I am afraid that by acting from their own fear, people will not help others. But, ultimately, I am afraid of a life without connection, without the understanding that we are interdependent, connected, ultimately one.

Thank you, covid-19. You have shown me one of the things I have resisted most in my life: fear.  Thank you, fear. You have shown me what I value: connection.