"It's a really weird time to be alive," I said to a woman over coffee on Tuesday, as if those words needed to be said, as if words could even describe the feeling of now. But sometimes I find it helpful to try. In a meeting later in the week, I described to colleagues that lately I feel like I'm free floating through space without a strong gravitational pull in any direction. Untethered. Somehow these conversations brought to mind this poem from April 2016, when my life seemed to be on autopilot and change was only an undercurrent.
Same Old Tuesdays (from Brainstorms) Tuesdays often feel the same. The morning routine: pack lunches make breakfast hopefully feed myself too. The drive to school: twists and turns on a country road, traffic backed up just a bit where the creek passes under the highway, and I follow the creekside path only to emerge back into suburbia where traffic lights, grocery stores, and rows of houses in between mark my way. It’s a faster drive back, the traffic is thin on the highway heading north so I forego the scenic for the efficient. The events on the calendar: pre-programmed, pop-up reminders cycle through the day as though I needed them to remember. Perhaps a visit to the chiropractor will realign the time as weeks seem to flow into one another. The steady stream of routine comforts an anxious mind. But today I have the urge to rewind, look back in time, and I find that even after all these same old Tuesdays, everything is different.