I’m starting to get used to some of this. The lazy weekends. The blank spaces in my calendar. Looking ahead to see if there’s anything planned, instead of the old normal staring at the calendar in exhaustion — pining for just a day or two off.
Having time to read. Having time to run. To write. To play board games. To binge watch a show.
I’m starting to realize that when this is all over, it will be hard to go back to the old ways of doing things. The busyness. The overwhelm. The chaos.
It will take more work to get me out the door. More convincing to RSVP to the party. Because as much as I complain about being home, home is where it’s at. I’ve never felt more drawn to it.
It’s my safe place. It’s my family’s epicenter. Day in, day out, gravity draws us all back here. Together — safe — home.
Sure, some things I will never get used to. The hot suffocation of wearing a mask at the grocery store. The discomfort and anxiety that comes when I hear someone near me sneeze or cough. The tickle in my throat that arises every time I read about the symptoms of Covid-19. Every. Time.
But still, it will be hard to go back. The simplicity of staying home has grown on me. I may be eager to escape; and we are all eager for life to return to normal; but this ‘new’ normal will always end right back here. Home.
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