Resilience in action

Yesterday, we discovered that the Pierson Library is restricting visitors from entering the building due to rising Covid cases.

The devoted staff is making books available for window pickup, but as the kids and I looked up at the sign on the door we shared a collective gut punch of disappointment. It was palpable.

Tuesday Library and Cocoa Day has always been a family routine, but since Covid began it has been a massive warm blankie of comfort and familiarity. A reliable source of normalcy, masks and all.

Birdie walked away fast, holding back tears, her empty canvas bag trailing behind her along the cement of the parking lot like a sad tail.

I caught up with her, knelt down in front of her and tried to talk my way through the frustrations of change, to speechify my way through the discomfort and disappointment she was feeling -- that we were all feeling.

She offered me a small, knowing smile. We have had similar chats, lectures really, over the last 8 months after all.

Suddenly she turned away and said, “look at the sky! Look at those clouds, wow!” and we did.

We remarked at how beautiful they were, how unusual. The sun arched its way through the clouds, full and warm, and we took comfort in the beautiful distraction. In the togetherness.

We got the cocoas and came back for more sunset. Went home in the dark.

We are learning to manage the discouragement, the longing for what we knew or thought we had.

We are learning to pause in those harder moments, and not to shoo them away so quickly or lecture our feelings, or to shame ourselves for having feelings at all.

Like the sun, rising and falling, and the clouds parting and disappearing, change is constant and reliable. But being present for it, the light and the dark, is a choice worth making.

Then you’re always on time for the beautiful distraction that awaits.