It’s a little more than 5 years ago that the lockdown order came in Washington State. Every spring since, I’ve experienced a dip in my energy, like my body remembers the fear and isolation of that time. 2020 is the year that I really saw the reality of our precarious situation as humans—the veil was torn. It has, of course, always been a precarious situation, but we find many ways to pretend otherwise. We can’t be in touch with our mortality every single second—it’s like staring at the sun. But I got a sunburn in 2020 that hasn’t faded, and every spring, it seems like I go through my own mini lockdown.   

I can pathologize this (What’s wrong with me?), I can try to numb out, or I can accept the wisdom of this time. Richard Rohr says, “Pain has a purpose.” This isn’t to say that there’s a cosmic power sadistically trying to teach us lessons. But simply that life truly is painful, and we can either open ourselves to the teaching or experience even more pain with our resistance. So, I’m trying to keep in front of me a few of the things I learned or that others have taught me: 

  • Focus on personal news. Julie Pham wrote this “Five Years after Lockdown” reflection that I really appreciated, especially this encouragement to focus more on “personal news.” When she’s with friends, she says, “Since time is more precious, I don’t let things that are out of our control consume our conversation.”  
  • Neighbors are precious. What got us through were Friday night happy hours with our neighbors. The first time, we drew chalk circles on the ground, trying to tell the littles not to get too close to each other. Then every birthday in the crew was celebrated together outside for the next year. We knew there would be a time when life sped up again (it has), but I’ll never forget what I learned: Proximity counts. In an age where we look online to find people who fit our backgrounds and preferences exactly, we are missing out on the gift of proximity. 
  • Connection is not limited. Though I’ll always prefer in-person, Covid and the years since have shown me, over and over again, that there are many ways to meaningfully connect. Video calls, phone calls (my favorite), snail mail, texts. We have a choice about whether we are an “Out-of-sight-out-of-mind” person or a “I-hold-you-in-my-heart-all-the-time” person. You can guess what I’m more attracted to. 
  • There is no such thing as “normal.” Though we aren’t in lockdown anymore, we will be again. Or we will suffer the ravages of fire, earthquakes, floods, other extreme weather or political events. Everything in me longs to breathe a final sigh of relief and say, “Finally, we can relax!” But that’s a fantasy. The discipline now is to learn to practice joy, connection, mindfulness, and creativity even though the odds are against us. 
  • People are endlessly creative. I think of all the leaders and business owners I support who figured out how to keep paying their employees, upend their business models, and keep delivering services, all while homeschooling in the background. I don’t want to romanticize that time, and it took a big toll. But still—what the ?? I continue to stand in amazement and appreciation.

As I mentioned in my newsletter last week about potent places, I’ve been trying to get out to the bus stop with the elementary schoolers some mornings. Here’s a little poem about that: 

Little third grade Audrey
is at the bus stop.
I ask if she remembers Covid.
“Yeah, it mostly 
made me sad.”
Five years later,
she and I stand
on the corner
in the cold March morning,
talking without masks,
And I’m happy.
I think she is, too.