Finding great joy in the very smallest things.
Over the course of the past week, our lives have drastically changed. Last Friday, I curiously asked a good friend "so... you've implemented extreme social distancing?" She replied that their family had; they were limiting to nuclear family walks but otherwise avoiding others as much as possible. I couldn't believe it when she suggested our daughters--best friends since they were two--have a Google Meet "play date" from our houses that are less than 200 feet apart.
And then this week happened. The week when waking up every day and turning to the news revealed some new state shut down or quarantine enforced; the week when working from home became not a privilege but a practicality; the week when Lily began to cry at least once daily with her frustration with how the coronavirus was separating her from her friends and keeping her from our annual visit to see my parents in Florida.
In some ways, the days became the easiest part for me; I went for a run in the morning, then set up some activity stations for Lily while Jeff made breakfast. Once Lily was settled into activities and Jeff had begun to telework, I could take a shower and head to the basement for my own work. We tossed in some family activities whenever possible: a hike in Bluemont or a long walk to the post office and grocery store to stretch our legs.
The evenings were tougher, though. Once I'd done all the work I could do and headed up from the basement, it became so easy to slip into my comfort with being an introvert. Self-isolation is, in some ways, an introvert's dream: it eliminates guilt as no one is allowed socialize and it feeds into a desire to just remain quiet and alone.
Yesterday afternoon, as I finished my work, I arrived upstairs to an empty house; Jeff had taken Lily kayaking on the Potomac, so I was left to my own devices. I straightened up, ran a few small errands to get needed supplies for meals, and then arrived back home, happy to have the opportunity to settle into folding laundry with a favorite movie in the background.
And then I got a text inviting me to have a cocktail.
See, in our neighborhood, it's possible to socially distance and be with our best friends. We live next door to some of the people we love most in the world, which means that we can kick our feet up, still be six feet apart, and share laughter and human connection.
Our green gin and tonics, in honor of St. Patrick's Day.
So, as much as I would have been drawn to staying inside on my own yesterday afternoon, enjoying a quiet house before Jeff and Lily's return, I found myself making my way onto our deck, pulling up a chair to the railing, and realizing that I can be an introvert and still recharge through time spent with others.
I don't know what the weeks and months ahead will hold, but I do know this: introverts like me cannot succumb to complacency. Pick up your phone and call a friend; set up your kid with a Google Meet where all they may do is make funny faces for a half hour; know when you need to initiate the contact with the rest of the world instead of waiting for them to reach out to you.
I can't wait for cocktail hour tonight--after all, there's still a weekend to kick off!
