Is it just me or are you also wondering what in the world has happened in the last 2 months?
Like, wait. . . what??
Life, as we knew it stopped. Dead. In its tracks.
Forced to adapt and left to wonder, what have we left undone?
I spend half of my parenting life wondering if I am doing too much to entertain my children and the other half anxious for them to age enough to take them to the big places I really want us all to go- National parks, once-in-a-lifetime shows, international landmarks, etc.
I revel in the tender moments of playing matchbox cars on the IKEA shag bath mat that has become my 4 year-old’s holy grail. Seriously, there is no other place she’d rather wrap herself up in and/or park her 50 hot wheels inside the folds. Weird and yet still, oddly endearing.
10 minutes later, I’m dreaming of our entire crew camping, mountainside. Ready to hike, ready to roast, ready to inhale that incomparable fresh air.
As I reflect on life before Covid-19, I realize, I don’t have much to regret. The family adventures I dragged my homebound husband on that our kids still talk about. The garden at home he’s helped them to cultivate. They are all part of our story up until this point.
I suppose Covid-19 is our wakeup call.
How do we really want to spend our unspecified time?
When are we going to stop waiting to do-the-things?
Today, millions are mourning the death of the passengers aboard the helicopter carrying basketball legend Kobe Bryant and his 13 year-old daughter.
The response seems right in line with any shocking news: Life. Is. Short. Live each day to its fullest. Tell those you love that you love them. Apologize before it’s too late. Don’t take today for granted.
But what does that truly look like for people around the world?
The thoughts are moving but the reality of taking my dream vacation today is unreachable.
So, now what?
I crawled into my attic to retrieve the mementos I’ve saved in my lifetime, curious as to what I considered important.
And, you know what I found?
Pages and pages of what I’ve written since I could write.
Thousands of prints.
Meaningless to few others than myself, but invaluable to me.