Slowing the fuck down. I am a much nicer mama when we’re not in a rush. No plans. No place we must get to. No certain time to do anything. I feel like I’m spirling gently through a different galaxy, light years away from here, someplace that isn’t quite a place. Maybe it once was. Maybe it will be. But for now, it is a space, with particles and possibilities. Suspendant. Uprooted. And more grounded than I have been in a while. 


They are responding to this expansive quality in their “ants in the pants” mama. They are used to rushing. They are used to that layer of angst, that I oh so try to peel off, always vibrating beneath my resistance to a forced schedule, and an overly structured life. 


A softer glow, almost dream like, is painting the air in our home. Our oven broke on Saturday night – great timing, isn’t it? On Friday I stood in the biggest line I’ve ever seen to try to hook us up with some food and soap for the apocalypse. Empty shelves. I grabbed the last organic red rice grain. People stressing in close proximity. And my almost three year old, who hears the words: “Don’t touch your face, please.” covers his face with his hands – eyes, nose, cheeks, lips. He then rested his face on the handle of the cart. There were, of course, no disinfecting wipes to be found anywhere on planet earth. I did my best fighting off the images of viruses covering his face, filling his body, and transferring to an elder. I got a couple of different kinds of Gluten Free flour and coconut sugar and raw cacao and bananas – to bake in this time of isolation. And even though the oven doesn’t work, the house smells like muffins. I think it’s the sweetness of the kids. 


I love them more than I loved them last week. Is that possible? 


Instead of feeling like the world is closing in on me, there’s an opening. I’ve never experienced such a feeling. I guess none of us has ever experienced anything like this. The world today is not the world we drove on, and hurried through, and ran to do lists in last week. Our worries and our concerns and our needs have changed. Drastically. Dramatically. Swiftle. And while there are more restrictions, more distance, more reasons to freeze, I feel more free, more connected, and more responsive than perhaps ever before. 


Something about the globalness of this crisis, can make the path of connection run deep. We’ve been touched by it personally – each and every one of us. And we have slowed down enough to feel each other being touched by it. 


Beyond the obvious tragedy of disease, and death, and this real threat to our health, I know a lot of people feel lonely. And scared. And locked in. And I want to hug all of you who feel stressed and fearful and alone. 


Who can you reach out to today, who might be delighted to hear from you? Someone you love but never have time to talk to? Someone who is isolated and afraid like you, or more than you? An elder? An old friend? A new friend you want to get closer to?


Stay connected. Reach out. And if you feel like it, comment below and tell me how you feel – five words to describe your current state. 


Big hug,