It’s a jungle out there, but it’s a jungle in here too. Want to reopen to whatever it was before this all began?
I prefer not. I’ll wait. And in the waiting, I will be weeding in my garden. Throwing out the old or unneeded and planting things anew. Including new ideas and to see what might grow. Planting fragile things, I too grew from seeds. Nurturing them along, coaxing them into living and protecting them from bugs, heat and whatever.
In the early days of the quarantine it seemed frightening. Like the world might end. But gradually, after repainting two or three rooms, cleaning out closets, and the garage – like 4 times each. Purging, throwing away stuff, and reorganizing other stuff I probably would not touch again until the next pandemic. It occurred to me while snoozing on the back deck in the late afternoon. That maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.
What with the choice of venturing out to the madness and perhaps encountering the dreaded virus, instead weren’t there other things to consider?
While walking through the garden it occurred to me the depth of all things and the short span of time they exist. And maybe, just possibly, this may be one of those times where you could do something you were gonna put off until “one of these days”. Whether it be the typical, write that book that has been stored in the back of your mind or to finish that album that is right there, and just needs about 500 more hours to complete.
I recall years ago a guy who had made this highly creative poster. It had no images on it – just numbers. But the header said, “One of These Days” and listed every day for a hundred years. Now this is really something if you consider we each only have so many days on this earth, right? So, say if you were born in 1953 or 1988, all the days ahead of you were shown. Every single day.
So, what would you do with those days? Now that it has finally rolled around to the days of pandemic you can’t really safely venture out too far. I mean you could of course, but at what risk? Especially if you were born in the 50’s or 40’s say. Perhaps a bigger risk, eh?
I have no more closets to clean, and I suppose I could repaint another room. Or paint a painting, or write a new song, produce a beautiful album in simplistic bliss.
With all the time in the world before me.
So that left me in my garden to wander in this confined and vast space, and to consider what I might do in the days ahead. My kind of reopening, the kind you get once in a lifetime.