This photo is unrelated to the post, but features, once again, our dog Rose wearing glasses. You can thank me in the comments.

Begin.

I’m trying to live in the here and now. Today, this moment; not tomorrow, not next week, definitely not next month. It isn’t too difficult, most of the time, to release the planning part of my brain from its obligations. It clears a lot of space, frankly.

But there are moments when I flash to fantasizing about tangible things I will do, when … well, when we can do these things again. I’m not talking about making plans to go to particular places or to do big things.

Hugs.

I’m talking about hugs.

I’ve been thinking about how much I want to hug people again. My mom. My dad. My siblings. My friends.

I close my eyes and I imagine pulling someone close, just for a moment, and not being afraid that I will harm them or they will harm me. How easy it is to say I love you, or thank you, or it’s going to be okay when you’re holding someone close, for that brief moment in time.

There are other things I miss too. All in the same category. I imagine myself doing these things. Clinking drinks in a bar, unafraid. Relaxing in someone else’s home, unafraid. Throwing a party, unafraid. Watching a movie in the theatre, unafraid. High-fiving my soccer team, unafraid.

No one can predict how this will change us, individually, collectively. But we are already changed in countless small ways, at least temporarily. We adapt so quickly; this is our strength, our resilience, yes, but what is lost along the way? For a deeper dive into this subject, I found this article in The New York Times thought-provoking (quoted below, but I recommend you read the whole thing):

I try not to dwell on what cannot be, right now.

I welcome and appreciate connection with neighbours, family, friends by other means.

But sometimes I am flooded with longing for this most simple connection. A hug.

xo, Carrie