“It’s not safe to leave the house,” says my 10-year old son. “We could catch the coronavirus!”
Maybe he’s right. I don’t know for sure. For perspective, it’s March 7, long before NYC’s schools close and we’re ordered to shelter at home. “It’s Central Park, baby,” I reply. “Plus, we need fresh air and exercise to keep us healthy!”
After several minutes of back and forth and some arm twisting in the form of me agreeing to buy Nutella crepes en route, I convince my son to leave the apartment.
Is my son feeling prudent? Or a wee bit paranoid?
Over the last weeks, I’m sure all of us have tinkered with our internal scale of being prudent vs. being paranoid when making decisions. On one side of the scale there’s paranoid, knee-jerk, panicky behavior like buying thirty extra rolls of toilet paper and armfuls of Trader Joes’ dark chocolate peanut butter cups. I MIGHT NEEEEED THEM!
Then there’s prudence. I’m not in love with the word “prudent” either, folks, but I do love me some alliteration. On this side of the balance there’s prudent, discerning, thoughtful behavior-– kinda like buying five extra packs of toilet paper and gobs of peanut butter cups. Single mother and two children cannot survive on toilet paper alone!
Truth is, we’re all making decisions during the pandemic in different ways. In deeply personal ways. What’s prudent for you, might feel paranoid to me. And vice versa.
When the Novel Coronavirus outbreak first shut down Wuhan City in China at the end of January I was packing my bags for a trip to Thailand. With a layover in Taiwan. A week before the trip I froze up looking at a city under lockdown. This looks serious. I started having second thoughts. Should I go? What if I get sick? What if I get stuck in Thailand or Taiwan and can’t return to the US to my boys? I mean, my ex-husband was flying in to NYC from where he lives in Italy (oh, the future irony) to be with my sons, and I was looking forward to being at an elephant sanctuary on the tropical Mae Wang River on a spiritual retreat (can I get a “Hallelujah” and an “Amen”?). But what if the ten day trip mutated into a quarantine on return? Flights from China were already thwarted. Taiwan (and eventually Thailand) surely couldn’t be far behind.
What on Earth should I do? (I love that phrase, by the way, because it implies that there’s other planetary wisdom out there).
I reach out to friends.
One of my best friends flat out says, “DON’T go. Don’t risk it.”
I call another friend. “You’ll be fine. You’re not transiting in China. Remember SARS? That was way overblown.”
Then I call my friend who was co-leading the group trip to Thailand. “I’m scared, and feel irresponsible leaving my kids. What if something happens to me? What if I get sick or can’t get back to the U.S.?” I say for the first time aloud.
“Trust your intuition,” she declares. “It’s never failed you.”
Oh, yes. My own trusty inner voice. That faithful internal GPS that’s never steered me into the Hudson River on my way home. Why didn’t I think of that?
Two reasons. One: my internal GPS whispers. She doesn’t shout. And two: Fear has a way of clouding over that sage voice and gobbling it up like nutella crepes on a Saturday morning. Fear is the foe of our trusty inner knowing.
We were due to leave for Thailand on a Saturday evening. I promised myself to decide within the week — by Friday. I prayed on it. Meditated on it. Journaled on it. Walked around in Central Park reflecting on it. Obviously this was way before half of NYC was dressed in full body condoms scraping shelves clean of all products punctuated by 6 feet of distance as I currently write this. And, it was long before my 10-year old son was anxious about leaving the apartment, if it weren’t for the promise of Nutella crepes.
I ask for guidance. Then comes the whisper, “The answer is in your body.”
WHAT? Is this hide-and-seek?!
But I know what the whisper means.
I feel into it — into my body.
What does it feel like imagining myself flying over the North Pole all the while covered in a aloe-ey layer of Purell, landing in Taiwan, transiting on to Chiang Mai, and making our way to the elephant sanctuary? What would it be like to open the flowing curtains of my bamboo hut the next morning to greet the 58 year-old “Grandma” elephant and gently place three plump bananas in her leathery trunk while she blinks her eyelashes at me in delight? What about splashing buckets of cool river water onto Grandma and the other dozen elephants, walking with them (i.e. ducking behind tree trunks to get out of their way), daily Kundalini yoga sessions, and trying my hand at cooking authentic Pad Thai at a local cookery school?
I feel e x p a n s i o n.
B r e a t h.
W a r m t h.
O p e n n e s s.
A l i v e n e s s.
I mean, COME ON! Even if you’re NOT into the spiritual/yoga jam, there’s P A D T H A I AND E L E P H A N T S, people!
And then my heart twinges. Travel. It may be difficult to get back to New York. President #45 could close the borders. My ex might have to return to Italy before I can get back home. JFK airport customs and immigration might quarantine me at the JFK Holiday Inn. The boys could be Home. Alone. In. New. York. City.
After the twinge I feel a long, deep pinch in my heart. This virus is serious, and is about to wreak havoc on life as we know it. Not now, or even in the next couple of weeks. But soon.
I take a long breath. The answer is clear. I text the trip leader. “See you in Thailand. ”
I’m going to Thailand, even without the assurance I won’t get sick or that I can get home easily.
I’m not a nervous traveler. I’ve worked in forty-odd countries, including Iraq. I’ve lived outside of the US, my home country, for sixteen years, and spent seven of those living in the Middle East. I’m not braggin’ here; I’m just saying that what happens next was new.
As I pack my bag for Thailand that Saturday evening my stomach is tied up in 329 knots. My hands tremble as I shove my lightweight yoga mat into my heavyweight suitcase. Although I’d decided to go, fear wells up in my body and spills out.
I’m shaking like a 46-year old nervous traveler leaf! What the Tom Kha Kai is wrong with me? I know I’m supposed to go on this trip, but I’m AFRAID.
I go for a walk to help move the nervous energy through me, still shaking. Then I zip up my suitcase, hug my two young boys tightly, and say, “I’ll be back in ten days,” hoping that would be true. My ex arrives in time to lug my bag down the two flights of stairs before I make my way to JFK airport, where he’d just landed.
On the trip to Thailand I decide to take precautions. You know, the prudence thing. I’ve got Purell, WetWipes, face masks, multi-vitamins, and oil of oregano. And I have an epic, once-in-a-lifetime adventure with Grandma, new Thai friends, a super fun group of fellow travelers, and SO MANY ELEPHANTS !
Have I mentioned there were ELEPHANTS?????!!!!!!!
In ten days I’m back home in New York. I’m healthy. We all know that symptoms of coronavirus could develop within 14 days. None of us develop symptoms.
Fast forward to a few weeks later. New York City closes Madison Square Garden, Barclay’s, and all Broadway shows. The shows must NOT go on. Soon after, all schools and businesses in NYC shut down.
But LIFE must go on. And we must choose how to live it. And our children and grandchildren — even if you aren’t a parent or grandparent– are watching, folks.
As you make decisions during these days, are you weighing in more heavily on the side of prudence or paranoia? Only you’ll know.
On a meditation broadcast on social media by Deepak Chopra recently he said, “We’re all passengers on Cruise Ship Earth.” Indeed, we’re all on the same boat. Whether we’re in first class, economy, or workin’ on the ship. Whether we’re infected or not. This is not to say we’re experiencing the pandemic the same on board. But it is our collective illness. We’re all affected and we’re all needed to be a part of the remedy.
What do we do while aboard? Turn up in arm-long gloves and N95 masks at the lobster buffet and hoard all the crustaceans? Curl up in solitary confinement in a drafty lifeboat? Or do we dance in perfectly — social distanced — formations in the galleys? Make love in the cabins?
We choose, knowing that our choices have a ripple effect on everyone aboard.
We can choose FEAR – i.e. grasping, scarcity, not-enoughness (insert toilet paper, basmati rice, bottled water, Lysol spray, and peanut butter cups), thereby allowing our fears to thrust themselves outward like waves across the ocean. And where our fears meet the fears of others, a thick current of collective fear, mistrust, and anxiety will flow. Dare I say, this tide is a-risin’ fast.
It’s easy to be in fear now. That’s the vibration buzzing aboard. We know that fear and stress compromise our immune system. We also know that in most cases fear is about future worries and is not about the present moment.
Winston Churchill said, “If you’re going through hell, keep going.”
Cruise Ship Earth, we may be going through hell. Let’s not throw anchor out here!
What do we do with our fear? Let it rise UP and OUT. Fear is not meant to stay in the body. It’s meant to activate us to move, to change, to transform it to something else. Fear is a natural way for us to deal with feeling threatened. But we’re not meant to live in this state – a state of increased blood pressure, heart rate, and anxiety.
We all deal with fear in our own ways. The key is to process it. See it, feel it, allow it, and move through it. Talk to a loved one or counselor about it. Let your body shake it out, cry it out. Walk it out. Whatever works for you.
My ex and his family have been in lockdown in a town in northern Italy for several weeks now and he notes that none of the panicky stockpiling of goods is happening in Italy as it is here in New York City, and from what I’ve heard across America.
Why’s that?
Maybe we’ve forgotten that we’re all on the same boat. We’ve put such value on the individual in the “United” States of America we’ve lost sight of the fact we’re all connected.
And this virus has already reminded us in dramatic ways this disease is all of ours. Covid-19 knows no country borders, social classes, voting party lines.
United we sail. Divided we sink.
There’s no my toilet paper and your toilet paper. Okay, maybe there is. But I believe there’s PLENTY for all of us when we share the toilet paper.
Let’s shift point of sail. Remember the LOVE BOAT show and its theme song from the 1970’s?
Love, exciting and new,
come aboard, we’re expecting youuuuu.
You’ll thank me later for reminding you of that tune. Or not. Probably not.
We get to bring ONE PIECE OF LUGGAGE ON BOARD, matey! We get to choose: is my luggage packed with fear? Or is it filled with love? It can’t be a little this, and some of that. It’s one or the other.
When we choose LOVE-– in the form of trust, faith, peace, calm, kindness, and generosity – we embrace it like the inflatable pants we’ll need when a fellow passenger throws us overboard.
IT’S LOVE!
When there’s LOVE there’s no room for fear, scarcity, anxiety, and not-enoughness. Oh, and small point, our true selves know only love. So the bad feelings we get when we’re packing up the fear (and Lysol, all the frozen foods available, and way too much TP) are because they’re so out of alignment with who we really are.
Bottom line. Fear is absolutely normal. Especially now as we sail through uncertain waters. Be gentle and compassionate with your fears.
However, love is MORE NORMAL!!! But how do we make sure we’re bringing the LOVE aboard?
Bring the Weather– The single most important thing I’ve learned doing stand up comedy in NYC over the last couple of years is that while it’s fine to read the crowd, you don’t let the crowd dictate your energy on stage — whether they’re quiet and not laughing much or ‘hot’ and roaring. If the last comedian bombed, you bring your ALL. If the last comedian crushed, you bring your ALL. If there are three people in the crowd and you paid for their entrance and drinks so you could get on stage, you bring your ALL. If you’re in a packed room of hundreds who came to see you, you bring your ALL. Same same in life.
Folks, I know for most of us it’s cloudy on board, and sh*#’s flying at us from all angles. We can’t control what’s happening around us and how other people are feeling and responding to what’s happening, or how much frozen food they’re buyin’ and stockpilin’. But we are FULLY RESPONSIBLE for the weather we bring. So, as much as possible, bring the sunlight, bring the calm skies, and bring the smooth seas.
My son told me this post was long — even in pandemic times — so read on about how to bring the weather during Storm Corona here… How to Bring the Weather feel free to check it out later or now and then come back. We’re expecting youuuuu!
On Saturday morning, March 28th, Oliver, my 10-year old son asks, “What are we gonna do, Mama?”
“We’re making crepes at home this morning,” I answer steadily. My internal GPS says it’s more prudent to stay outdoors than go into restaurants, even if they’re still open. “Then we’re going to lather up in Purell and head into Central Park for a walk.”
Just kidding. I don’t know how to make crepes. We have peanut butter cups for breakfast.
That same day I make plans for us to leave our itsy bitsy teeny weeny Manhattan apartment and head to a friend’s empty home on Long Island (with bikini –just in case we’d be there a long while). My internal GPS has been consistent and clear that it’s time to prepare to self isolate in a place with more leg room (and refrigerator space). I pack all the peanut butter cups I have, plus the remaining rolls of TP I’d gathered.
I pack not knowing how I’ll “remote school” two young boys while working to support us in a new place with no support network of friends or family nearby. I pack not knowing what New York City will be like when we return. I pack not knowing how long we’ll be gone, nor who we’ll be when we come home.
There’s so much uncertainty. For us all. But the truth is, there always was. And there always will be.
There always was uncertainty. And there always will be. Uncertainty isn’t the enemy. Our oversized fears about uncertainty are.
On Saturday March 28 my 12-year old son FaceTimes with his papa in Italy while “remote learning” how to make Nutella crepes for breakfast. We’ve been isolated — alone, together — in our new home on the east end of Long Island for ten days. “One cup flour,” he says. “Make sure the butter’s melted before you mix it with the eggs.”
I can’t help but wipe a river of tears as my youngest plates our thin, phoned in from Italy, made in America, French crepes smothered in just as much Nutella. They’re what we’re all craving: a sense of normalcy. A taste of New York City. A feeling of home.
You’ve read this far. Much more than I planned to write. But this is where it gets good, folks.
ATTENTION PASSENGERS: This virus may attack our respiratory system, our lungs, our friends, neighbors, and family members. It may overwhelm us with its toxicity. But this disease does not know the indomitable power of the human spirit aboard our ship.
Have you ever hoped for the well-being of another? Wanted more for our planet and for humanity? Then, YOU are ready to take on the real threat that’s on board — fear, anxiety, paranoia, scarcity, and lack.
YOU, dear one, are an essential part of life on “cruise ship” earth. And you, me, and all of us, have been preparing for this exact moment in time for eternity.
This is the time to choose love. Pack up the love, folks, share it widely, and sing it as if it’s your mantra on repeat shuffle.
IT’S LOVE!
… but it’s not just a kitschy 1970’s theme song lyric now.
IT’S LOVE because it’s downright essential to navigate these waters, calm the skies, and smooth that rocky sea.
IT’S LOVE and as the song goes, now more than ever…
Let it flow, it floats back to you.
