Trapped But Not Alone

My brain is sort of all over the place. The last week has been unlike any other I've ever been through.

Thankfully, I'm alive and well (as far I know), although there's global panic over a new virus that no one is particularly prepared for. Grocery stores have food, but lots of shelves are empty. Folks are hoarding toilet paper. We've been told to start practicing "social distancing," or not physically going places or being around more than just a few people at a time if at all possible. I started working from home this week, as did my roommates. I already have cabin fever.

This week I saw a post by a rabbi that reminded me that hunkering down in self-protection isn't the whole goal. He suggested that socially distant doesn't mean emotionally distant. For all the times you want to do something you probably shouldn't do, like go out, see someone, or do something, our response should become a phone call made, a kind message sent, or a good deed done that doesn't endanger people. I'm glad I saw that earlier than later in this pandemic situation.

It's an obnoxiously prescient sentiment as I prep for my next appointment with my therapist. A few months ago he asked me who my network of support would be if I stopped going to see him. Initially I thought, "I have a lot of people I rely on!" And I have a lot of people I could rely on. But how many am I actually letting in? And I know that might sort of sound like gaslighting on his part—my payments to him are part of his livelihood, after all—but I know it was born so much more out of concern.

I'm so grateful to have friends.

Needing people to get through life generally and needing people during a global crisis are different things, but the practice and execution of it are remarkably similar. So in an effort to start mitigating the effects of what I already know will feel like too much isolation for my extraverted self, I asked some friends to do a group chat this week to talk about our Come Follow Me reading. We'd been getting together over the last several months, and I'm glad we continued via technology. It wasn't as seamless as it sometimes can be, but it was still so valuable to feel a connection with people that matter to me who I won't see physically for an undetermined amount of time.

I didn't bare my soul to them in the way that my therapist had probably intended, but I made the effort to maintain relationships in a time that it would be easy to allow myself to wallow and become distant.

And as all of this has been going on, a friend texted me this week and asked what advice I would give to my 19-year-old self. And the hysterical (hypocritical?) thing about it all is that I replied with this: "I would tell him to let more people in. It's easier to live when you let yourself trust the people around you." It's something I know I'm not always doing to the degree that would be most helpful, but I've seen it work enough that I know it's good advice for Zac of the past, and Zac of the present.

The wildflowers were blooming, and the
sun felt so good.

Tanner and I went on a walk two nights ago. I was feeling anxious after reading too much about the corona virus that continues to spread and harm people. We didn't talk too much about the pandemic, but ended up turning to life stuff, both issues and concerns we share, as well as our individualized trials. It was a conversation far deeper than I've had with anyone outside of therapy for at least a few months, and it was so cathartic. We arrived at no new answers to solve our problems. But we each were seen and heard, and mutually reassured that we support each other in whatever we experience. I felt less anxious about the virus, as well as strengthened through expressing thoughts that are hard.

I went hiking yesterday, and it reminded me of how beautiful Arizona is in the spring. Later that day I laid in my hammock under the trees in my front yard, their new, bright leaves shading me from the sun as I read a book. There's beauty here still, amid the uncertainty. I'm seeing it readily in nature. It's time to start finding it in other people. For as much as I might feel trapped as we collectively hope that things get better, it's nice to know that I'm not alone.