A letter to myself from the past,
In 2020 there will be a pandemic. Your children will be 3, turning 4 and 5. Your awareness of a pandemic before this time has been through movies that are pushed aside as plots are imagined and stretched into thriller and horror. But this one will be real. You will see your husband’s best friend take his own life. You will struggle with pain and loss. What will be ever harder, you will struggle with your life partner and best friend go through pain and loss. You will try to fix it but won’t be able to.
Schools will close and activities will be cancelled in hopes to flatten the curve. Hospitals will be overrun and there will be a massive run on toilet paper, baby wipes and even chicken and pork.
Graduations will be virtual and parades will be organized—for well wishes, for birthdays, anniversaries and even holidays. We will try to connect 6 feet apart. It will be weird and somewhat strange.
Businesses will close their doors. You know the ones—the businesses where people poured sweat, tears, and dreams into. The news of each closure will tug at your heart until there’s a lump in your throat.
There will be tears. There will be so much fear. It won’t ever get easier but you will adapt and become stronger.
There will be hope. There will be so much hope. And love. There will be community--it'll look different but it sounds the same.
Pen pals are a thing again, You know those letters you used to handwrite to your nana? Yes, those.
Part of your days will include taking time to notice and thank essential workers. You will teach the next generation about what it means to be “essential” and on the front lines. They will respect others in a whole different way. This will stick.
Your kids will vocalize to you that they miss normal and it’ll poke your heart until it feels like it’s bleeding. You’ll miss it too, one hundred times over but you’ll smile and bake a cake and read with them. You’ll be so strong for them. Your phenomenal mothering will be what they remember.
You’ll start a new company. It’s not the yoga studio you dreamed of. It doesn’t have huge windows with a water feature or even curtains. It’s a guest room in your home that you hollowed out to keep refining your craft. It’s 100 percent virtual and you will miss touch and assists but you’re called to this and good at this. Keep going.
You find your people. You teach when the kids nap. You share your heart and practice metta.
It won’t be glamorous and it will never be easy. Your mentor will tell you this: “Don’t think about the end goal. Think of how you want to feel when you get there” And in my guest room, teaching yoga, connecting with strangers who now feel like family, I am living my dream.
You’ll spend more time outside in nature. You’ll teach your children about goslings and start to be able to identify all kinds of birds. Their development in emotion, human experience and play will always be a part of them. The Covid generation. Here’s the thing though. Time will not stop. Keep pursuing things that light your soul on fire. Get creative. Adapt. Take each moment as it presents itself. Lean into being uncomfortable because you weren’t just
meant for this—you’ve been practicing this. Each time you step onto your mat, you were working to counter this. Strength sometimes comes in the form of a whisper and I hope you listen.
You can do hard things. You are enough. You are right where you need to be. From my heart directly to yours, Sarah ॐ