So it’s been a year. I remember how innocent some of us were back in March 2020. Some of us made funny backpacking videos in our yards. We debated over whether it was ethical to drive to Cow Creek to hike, fifty miles away. We were frightened of the grocery store. People were kinder then.
In many ways, I’ve been fortunate. I’ve been working at home for ten years, so that didn’t change, but instead of phone calls, where you could pace as you talked, everyone leapt on the video conference bandwagon. Looking at faces all day is hard, especially if you lead the conferences like I do. I didn’t gain Covid weight even though I ate more cookies, which is sort of a miracle. I continued to wear real clothes every day. And I wrote more (and also watched a bunch of shows on Amazon Prime).
Writing hasn’t been easy but I have had some successes. I am going to have two essays published this summer. My memoir comes out next month, which is also strange–how do you launch a book during a pandemic? I am Zoomed out. Hopefully people are still reading–I have no idea.
In April I am going to do a DIY writing retreat, which means, drive four miles to the other tiny house, and start on my next novel. Because you just have to keep on doing what you think you are good at, and hope in a tiny way it helps.
I wake up some days and wonder what the point is. Every day seems very similar. But then a friend invites me to backpack in the Selway Bitterroot Wilderness. I offer to help another writer with her book. The sky is blue. There are a million tiny things that are good about this life; these often balance out the rest.