Quarantine Essay Series: The View From My Window

The View From My Window

I roll awake when my body tells me I’m ready. I catch up to the sights and sounds of the morning. My white bookcase and slightly askew vision board. The small window with sticky blinds that let the bright light in, as to signal “Today is another day.” The occasional neighbor noisily mowing the lawn, at any hour too early- not so ready. I fumble to remember any worthwhile parts of my foggy dreams, only to shrug the cloudy remnants away.

I have developed a new practice in quarantine to ask myself “what do I want to do today?” A simple but remarkable exercise. Write, make coffee, watch a few episodes of Real Housewives of New York, sit still while the leaves on the tree branches outside of my window flurry in the light summer breeze. Nature’s cadence, breathing motion into mine. I bask in the prolonged silence, both outside and in my head. Cherishing a few moments without urgent demands beating on my heart.

In the calm I have created for myself, with the assistance of nature and well-placed furniture, I remember to breathe. I realize I have been breathing all this time.

What else suddenly comes to mind with no need for holy remembrance? Why is it I am afraid of forgetting for a little while? For life is already vibrant without a manufacturing of moments worthy to remember. I wonder why one must let go, to reach for another.

A gentle whisper, “There are more things to come, more memories to be made, and more letting go.”

A promise, then.

The leaves will fall in season, yet new leaves grow to remind me, “Today is another day.”