Thank God For Masks

When Shopping After Exercise Class

Last Saturday after my double-masked Pilates class I went to Target. I never go to Target. The extent of my pandemic shopping is either Whole Foods or Grocery Outlet - depending on my mood and the size of the week’s wallet. I went with a list in my head, “Christmas cards, Christmas candle, raincoat for Nelly” - on repeat.

Beelining it straight for Doggie Clothes I hear my name, “Josie Day.” The thoughts in my head didn’t process quickly enough. There he was - my ex. THE ex. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him since the breakup, but it’s the first time I’ve seen him without feeling rejection.

I don’t want to use this time to tell the story of us because, in truth, there’s no real story to tell. I’ve been known to romanticize a significant amount of relationships. The real story is what happened after. After the breakup, I felt heartbroken.

I was so sad that I finally answered this wild call inside me to get on stage in front of strangers and tell my story. And it turned out I was good at it. Like really good at it. The first time I told stories was on stage in New York City. I continued in LA as often as I could. I attended Toast Master’s meetings and drove to San Diego to share more stories with groups of poets and story tellers. I became part of a community that was open and vulnerable and felt like I fit. I finally found the puzzle where I was the missing piece.

I was living my bravest life. Or so I thought.

Time has changed so much since then. Since the sadness. Since answering that call.

It’s been raining a week straight in LA. All the plans for hikes and bike rides and out-of-breath-finally-getting-back-into-it-runs have all been slashed through and replaced with stay home, stay home, stay home. Raise your hand if you’re as tired of staying home as I am. I don’t think I’ve cussed as much about “fuck this fucking pandemic” as I have this week. I screamed it into my pillow when my sister couldn’t come over on Christmas Day because she has elderly people in her life and neither of us are willing to take the risk.

At one time it would have been incomprehensible that a trip to Target would be the cause for a bit of joy. He and I talked for a long time - about the pandemic, how life has changed in our separate corners of this country, how our personal lives are still changing. But we also talked about work, and our dogs, and trying to find the smallest bit of gratitude in the tiniest of things. We ended the conversation with “good luck out there” and an elbow tap.

I wondered why the universe would drop such a person in my life at such a random time and my answer- a reminder. The clock will keep ticking. Time does not heal all wounds, we do that. Humans. Friends. Connections.

I've never seen the hands of a clock admit it might be time to see a therapist. I've never heard of time forcing an honest conversation or picking up the phone to tell someone you love them. I have seen strangers hug and enemies become friends. I have whispered the words, "I need help" to a chosen few. We are the way to healing and we can choose to stay stuck, sprained possibly broken, or we can break out. Maybe that day is not today. Maybe it's not even three tomorrow's from now. But one day - after all this time of not giving up - we can blossom again.