COVID is my Wilderness

Last summer, the Boy spent three months in the wilderness. He and a group of ten boys had to cook all of their meals over a fire they started. There were no haircuts. No showers except maybe a dip in a pond, stream or river. They lost track of time as they had no clocks and no calendars. No porcelain. A vast majority of them abruptly left home and did not get a chance to say goodbye to their friends.

In the wilderness, the Boy learned to build a fire from sticks. He learned to make a backpack out of a tarp and nylon rope. He learned to cook.

He learned to feel his feelings and speak up and meditate and listen.

COVID is my wilderness.

I haven't seen my friends in months. I have had to cook all of my meals. My hair is long. I've lost track of time.

I have learned to feel my feelings and speak up and meditate and listen.

I have learned to be comfortable with my own thoughts. I have learned to pause, to be a better listener. I've learned to stop spinning and getting worked up. I have learned when I get frustrated to let go instead of squeezing tight. I have learned to let go instead of giving up, instead of staying "Screw it" or "I don't care."

I am feeling a quietness inside that I haven't felt in a very long time, perhaps ever. I asked a friend "What is the difference between peaceful and numb?" I couldn't tell where I was at because I have never felt this way before. Was it peace or was I numb?

"Numb is when you avoid or ignore your feelings. Peace is when you have feelings but they don't control you."

The Boy called me on Mother's Day.

He was calm and quiet. "I really don't have much to say," he said.

For my family, not needing to talk is a miracle. His mind wasn't racing, he wasn't on edge. He just was. He seemed peaceful, not numb.

It was good.