These days, I sit at home in a small closet in front of my computer, meeting with people virtually, all day long four days a week, witnessing their pain and successes, healing psyches where I can. Down at the other end of the bedroom, outside of the closed door sits a noisemaker switched to sounds of the ocean surf, playing in a pleasant loop. It’s a good, meaningful chunk of my present life yet not exactly one I would have envisioned for myself even in the recent past, this working within my house to avoid an invisible, impersonal danger that’s steadily killing people far and wide.
These are strange times from which I squeeze out gratitude and beauty wherever I can find them in my corner of the world, safe in a closet. Sometimes, I look through a little window onto a changing sky above my neighbor’s roof, trees occasionally blowing in a strong wind, other times still. This helps delineate the days for me, a little. I always return my focus on the computer screen, a portal into the homes and lives of others. Like me, they sit indoors or in their car, watching the world outside, weathering this period of limbo, avoiding sub-microscopic purveyors of death for yet another day.