I have been fascinated lately by views of the world as seen through windows. It is an odd fascination in many ways. The world I see through my windows is the same world I go out in daily: my yard; my neighborhood; the people I see walking, whom I too pass when I am out walking. I am not a prisoner in the house, the world through the windows is not a forbidden world. If it is not raining, I drink my morning coffee outside while I listen to birdsong and watch my fellow inhabitants of this world frolic, play, find their own breakfasts.
So why the fascination? It is really not that surprising, is it? In many ways we live in a world where we are separated, we live in boxes even if they are boxes without solid physical boundaries, they are boxes nonetheless. After the better part of a year spent with COVID-19 restrictions and social distancing, we yearn for something different, yearn for what once was, chafe at our restrictions, mourn the sense of touch, connection, of community. Yes we have friends. Yes, zoom has brought us together, even sometimes deepened connections, and yet we are in boxes still.
I can’t say it is at all bad. Where I live people can go out, can gather to some extent, although I tend to only gather and see friends who also observe social distancing and mask rules. In fact I am fortunate to have spent much of Sunday afternoon with a friend just this past weekend.
We gathered for a concert, a fund raiser for a local organization, ACE, which supports students who are interested in the creative arts and their teachers. The concert was in a spacious yard, seating was widely scattered, and a good safe distance was maintained between musicians and audience. It was a beautiful afternoon. We listened to young people joyfully performing their own music. It was an afternoon of respectful sharing and community.
Afterwards my friend and I sat across from each other on her patio chatting, mostly because I had one more glass of champagne than I should have and was not yet to ready to drive home. As much as I am grateful for the telephone and zoom, an in-person conversation, even at a distance still bears a different weight. After a couple of hours, we adjourned to a patio overlooking the Tennessee River to continue our conversation over dinner. It was in many ways a perfect day, music, community, friendship. It was a day that I might once have taken for granted, and which now seems all the more precious.
And so it seems strange to me that, following this precious break from my isolation, that yesterday I should find myself trudging painfully through the slough of despond, mired in mud deep enough that I struggled to extricate myself. That sense of being inside looking out felt heavy. I felt as if I was pounding at the window crying to be released, metaphorically at least, because I knew I could get in my car and drive anywhere I wanted.
Perhaps it was simply because I had spent time with a friend. Perhaps it was because I had spent a few happy hours with family a couple of days later, again outside, again distanced, this time around a fire-pit. Perhaps it was simply this reminder of all that is missed. Perhaps it was just as I hope that we will come to treasure these times spent with loved ones and community, the darker forces of our world were also too much on my mind. Cynicism battled optimism. I feared that our human default response to fear and uncertainty, the fight for me and mine, often no matter the cost, would win out over our better natures.
There are times when I struggle, times when we all struggle, even as, if we are honest with ourselves, we can acknowledge that it could be far worse. But the heart wants what it wants. We all yearn for comfort, the familiar, safety, and this is always at odds with our equal need for creativity and creation, for something new. But the birth of something new always comes with the loss of something familiar. We don’t know what the future will bring, but we know that as much as we yearn for what was, we can never go back. The world changes. We change in the world. And sometime the dark overwhelms. The point is not to stay in the darkness, not to stay inside, but to step into that world, hard as it is. When the darkness overwhelms I have to remember to take a step outside, through the window and into the world, away from whatever walls I myself have constructed.
It is raining, although at the moment only lightly. Through the window I see my neighbors walking. I need to step outside and join them.
