To Live My Life Awake

A month, a morning, a moment—how long does time take to divide? How long does it take before to become memory and after reality? 

My man, Dan, and I were in sunny Spain in February 2020 when a virus began to creep across Europe. Upon our return to the U.S., states were closing to prevent the spread of Covid-19. Suddenly we never left the house except for neighborhood walks. We ordered food, medicine, everything online. The pandemic severed time in two. Daily we counted ourselves fortunate, for many who could not isolate experienced terrible hardship, illness, death. Refrigerator trucks filled the parking lot of our local funeral home to handle the overflow of bodies. It was a time of dying. Were we next?

Somehow, people found hope. Our neighborhood hung hearts made from strings of light on their doors. At sunset all over the world, people went to their windows to bang pots or sing as if to say: we are in here and still alive. How about you? Cities and towns rang with this music. Still, I longed for before, when we lived maskless and free from fear. Would life always be like this?

After a year, a miracle: a vaccine. In the summer of ‘21 we spent three glorious weeks in Paris, wearing laminated CDC vaccination cards on lanyards around our necks. Without this proof of vaccination, a waiter would not serve us a latte, much less a plate of steak frites.

Yet life has not returned to before. It never will. Taking Covid tests occasionally and always getting the latest vaccination are integral parts of our lives. Dan and I grieve those lost months when we could not satisfy our wanderlust to see the world. Since the Pandemic, we have tried to make up for lost time by cramming in as many trips as possible first to Paris, then Belgium, the South of France, back to sunny Spain, and Austria. This spring we return across the pond to magical London, where my wanderlust began in the summer of 2001.

At our age, Dan and I do not know how many more journeys we will be capable of making. Flexible knees, hips, even stamina—none are what they once were. There’s also pain, disease, and death. We know this life is finite. There will be a last time for us, a last trip. We are in a race against time, but a race we need to take slowly and enjoy.

As we enter 2025, life feels oh so precious and joyous. I don’t have to be in Paris or Madrid to enjoy small pleasures. Laughing with friends over lunch floods me with joy. Always I remember: I have a birth date, a death date, and a certain number of days in between. May I savor my days.

Happy New Year!