The Coronacation Diaries, Episode 23

Lightning Crashes

It is so easy to get caught up in the frustrations of the day-to-day. 

Dishes. Again. Pasta. Again. Scooping the cat litter. Again.  The meaninglessness of a schedule.

The list we make for ourselves and then ignore because we'll be here tomorrow. And next Tuesday. And the entire month of May.

The knowledge that people you know, friends of friends, are sick. Some are dying.

The constant reminder that our elected officials are immoral. Narcissistic. Incompetent. 

The vaguely guilty feeling of going to the liquor store to buy beer; the feeling that you are doing something wrong.

The disappointment that those whom you care about --the very purpose of what you do-- just don't/can't/won't show up.

The hurt of being ghosted. Disrespected. Ostracized. By people whom you used to respect.

The realization that the reflection staring back at you in the mirror--pale, overweight, aging-- that's the truth that you have to embrace and somehow learn to love.

But then, lightning crashes. A storm rolls through. There's the possibility of damaging winds.

You reconnect online with people who meet you halfway, who hold the same truths close to their own hearts. You plan. You create. You build ideas to try to offer the world.

You know that, chances are, when you put yourself out there, that the people who need to show up probably won't/can't/don't.

But it might be enough, for now, to remember. That there are people who will meet you halfway, who hold the same truths close to their own hearts. Who plan. Create. Build ideas.

It's storming out. Rain and lightning and thunder and hail. There's the possibility of damaging winds.

But you are in the basement with the people you hold most dear. Watching Community and writing and drawing and waiting out the storm. Together.

Lightning crashes. But it's okay. Sometimes the storms bring us together and remind us of what we hold most dear.