Darkness, Hope

Like everyone, I'm exhausted.  Minnesota has one of the highest covid transmission rates in the country and has held that position for weeks.  I've been afraid to do much of anything outside our home, other than the usual and necessary errands.

It's becoming apparent that this way of living is not sustainable.  I feel depression creeping up.  So F. and I are going out for breakfast tomorrow, early, to escape the crowds.  I hate to take the risk of getting or transmitting covid, mostly because our doctors and nurses are desperate for relief.  But depression can be just as dangerous as covid--it makes me push away those I love most. 

I'm trying to cling to the news that is most hopeful: the omicron virus is less deadly, the Pfizer antiviral pill is 90 percent effective early in the disease.  I need that hope.  For the first time I see why Jesus listed it among the top three: faith, hope, and love. 

As a survivor of childhood abuse, I've noticed a pattern: I feel my worst just before a memory or insight that propels intense growth.  I hope the pandemic is like that. I hope it precedes a world-wide  reckoning, a humbling here in the U.S., where our sense of control and entitlement has been blown to smithereens--then ushers in a new era of intense growth and innovation. 

I hope.