Lost and Found in the Covid Era

Photo by Ales Maze via Unsplash.com

This week we reached a terrible milestone in the United States: 500,000 lives lost from Covid. The scope is hard to fathom. Each death represents an entire world inside of a single individual, gone forever. Each life represents other lives left behind to grieve.

It is hard. I see so many strong people struggling with the uncertainty, the fear of it all. So many of my friends are exhausted, overwhelmed, burnout. Even those who haven’t lost anyone close leave with the fear, the uncertainty. When will it end? When can we hug one another again? When can we talk about nothing over a cup of coffee with a friend? When can we go to dinner with our families?

And then there’s the what. What will the post-Covid world be like? What will remain of the old normal when the new normal finally does arrive?

There will be global and national new normals, of course. I can’t pretend to know what those are. But there will also be, for each of us, for every household, a new normal that is already taking shape.

We’ve had a lot of time alone—too much time, even for those of us who are introverts. But this can also be a time to reevaluate, to do a deep-dive and get really clear on our values.

What are we taking with us into the new normal? What have we, as individuals, released?

I’ve heard from so many people that missing certain things has given them a fresh perspective on what matters most to them, on what taps into their core values, what aligns most with their sense of purpose. Friends who don’t miss endless committee meetings but do long for a family dinner. Family who don’t miss being pulled a thousand directions but who do miss hitting the road to see relatives who live in another state.

What have you lost? What have you found?

Have you rekindled a love affair with a long-lost hobby? Discovered a new favorite series? Gotten lost in another world through a TV show or book? Spent more time with your kids? Had more kitty or puppy snuggles? Adopted a rescue animal from a shelter?

Let’s remember that. Let’s hang onto those things we’ve found.

For me, I forgot the sheer joy and immense satisfaction I get from gardening. For years, I’d convinced myself I’d have a garden when I moved to a house with a sprawling yard, some serious acreage.

But last spring, I ended up getting seriously innovative with the space my townhouse’s tiny lot offers.

This year, I’m looking forward to watching some of those plants planted last year come back, and continuing the never-ending work-in-progress that is a garden. There’s endless learning, endless weeding, and the cycle of the seasons, watching the flowers bloom and new plants take root and thrive over the years.

There are new rituals in our life now: hubby and I share an evening walk with our dog, Leo. From last spring, through the summer heat, through the fall and a rather bitter winter, we’ve walked almost nightly. Now, we’re watching spring creep back in to the landscape, as the entire world around us has changed.

It’s bittersweet. It’s hard. We’ve lost people. And so much is on hold—even something as simple as a hug. We say, “When all this is over, we will…”

And we will. I have to have faith in that. My cousin lost her father last fall after a battle with a rare form of cancer. She and I have rediscovered a dream from our early twenties—to take a trip to Europe together. “When all this is over,” we’re saying now. “Let’s go to Portugal.”

There are things we’ve lost. The grief, the pain, the uncertainty is hard.

There are things we’ve set aside, things that we don’t need to take up again. I’ve left behind a few limiting beliefs that held me back. I’ve left behind habits that didn’t serve me. Whether it’s a situation filled with endless drama or a bad habit that moves you further away from health, happiness, and wellbeing, I hope you’re able to release it.

And then, there are the things we’ve found. A slowing down. A sense of stillness. I’m more present now than I used to be. More mindful. I’m more focused on nurturing my relationships with my inner circle instead of trying to please random people in my life.

If you are struggling, I hope you find a way to reach out—to a trusted friend, a sympathetic family member, or even a crisis hotline if that’s what you need. There is a lot of struggle right now. A lot of loss.

It will take a lot time to process that loss, to process the collective trauma of the pandemic.

I hope that we can take solace in what we’ve found. And I hope that, when all this is over, we can reclaim what we’ve realized matters most.

Be safe.

Denise