How it feels to wait out the rain

I feel deeply connected to others right now, through pain. Through the heaviness that comes with uncertainty. Through anxiety thundering through the body like a runaway freight train. I imagine people in their quiet homes, gazing into space and waiting, like I am. Waiting like they would under shelter during a storm, for it to pass. Waiting for nature to run its course, for an answer from above. A sign of the sky clearing, or rainfall thinning out until it becomes mist.

It reminds me of a street festival I went to this past summer. The moment I got there, it started to pour. Crowds scattered to the edges of buildings, into stores and under trees. All of us, hundreds of us, united in pause. Collectively we sought shelter, collectively we bided our time until it was safe. A few renegades marched on as if nothing had changed, holding their heads high as their t-shirts soaked through. What we’re going through now is much the same, only the stakes are higher. The rain is disease, the renegades who choose to dance in it are only encouraging it to last longer.

I carry these thoughts and feelings on my shoulders. Some days it’s so heavy that my knees buckle, other days it’s a little lighter. It depends on who is there to help me share the weight. Every day, I take another step forward, with the rest of the world. An exhausting, labourous step that takes 24 hours– 24 hours of intensive care, of processing tests and data, of media conferences, of important public health decisions, of mindful breathing, of gratitude mantras, of cognitive re-framing. A step that, not long ago, involved none of this and felt so easy and intuitive, because it was my own. Today, this step is one that we must take together. And not only is it difficult, but it is also scary. Because it brings us closer to an edge that none of us can see or prepare for.

And so, we wait in our quiet homes. On our front porches and at our kitchen counters, buried under a mound of sheets and covers. Feeling, many of us for the first time, how it truly feels to not know. Trying, many of us for the first time, to make peace with not knowing. Surrendering control when we’ve never craved it more.

I like to think that from this, we will emerge a little more enlightened. Humbled. Connected, through shared experience and shared effort. A sense of complete fulfillment in our hearts, with nothing more than sunshine on our faces, after we’ve weathered the storm.

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