Counting the Days and My Blessings
We spend our lives counting the days. Last year there was a “going to Maui” countdown and a “days until my daughter graduated from college” countdown. I have been blessed to lead a very good life, so most of the time I’m counting, I’m looking forward to a big event, an exciting vacation or simply a glass of wine or cup of coffee with a friend.
Today I’m aware of the calendar. It’s September 1st and that has no particular significance other than the fact that it’s a marker of time. I turn the page and count the days since the pandemic began to exert control over our lives: 166. It’s been nearly one hundred days since George Floyd’s brutal death at the hands of the police sent masses of people into the streets. And only 15 days since the lightning strikes ignited hundreds of fires across the state and forced us indoors, further constricting our lives.
This month, there are no planned events. But, it is historically a very happy month for me because I love fall. It’s natural and healthy to mourn what I miss most now: my dog, my pool, my backyard, my hair and nail salon, my visits to the gym, my leisurely strolls through the mall, my cocktail parties and my friends’ hugs.
But, it is equally natural and healthy to count my blessings as I count the days. I have my health, my family, my home and neighborhood. My bookcases and my pantry are full. My walls are covered with art and my dining table has come alive in a new way.
I am struck by all that has been lost this year, but hopeful that the experience will leave me a better person: more grateful and more present than ever before.