“You’re a part of history,” they say.
I certainly don’t feel like it. And it makes me wonder if people who are part of history know it at the time.
“Oh, this is so exciting,” they say.
I certainly don’t feel excited. Every ache and discomfort makes me wonder if this is the upside of down or the other way around.
“Things will be back to normal sooner or later now,” they say.
I certainly do not imagine there is a normal to go back to. In conversation with a colleague the other day, I heard an all-too-familiar refrain:
“Maybe it’s just COVID or maybe it’s the way it is, I can’t tell…”
I certainly have stopped trying to untangle this reality. I hold up one fist: COVID. Another fist: the way it is. Neither one is going anywhere, so I commit to stop trying to tease it apart, so I bring my hands together.
Today I got my second shot. I wasn’t even going to write about it for all the ways this whole thing leaves me feeling tangled.
But it is a part of history. My history. It is a sense of normal. This normal. My normal. And like all things in this race around the sun, it is worth putting down so that I can look back upon it with fresh eyes sometime, sooner and later.
Now that excites me.