When this blog was created, so long ago now, I never could have imagined a post like this one. You all are aware that this post is not being written from some far away destination atop a chilly mountain, smelling of wonderful tree smells, with my shelter waiting for night fall. No. I haven’t escaped to Yosemite National Park to wait out this horrible nightmare. This post is being written exactly where all of you are, or should be, at home. Where I have been now for 7 days. Long days. With little or no sun.

We are all aware of the surreal nature of this situation. The details that bombard us daily; the facts, the death toll, the flattening of the curve, the toilet paper wars, the empty shelves, the cancelling of just about everything we hold dear, the online concerts, the social distancing, the bizarre messages from Trump, and the humanity in staying home to protect others. It’s fucking crazy. Insane. Disappointing. We never could have ever predicted this would happen in our life time. There will be stories someday to fill a whole library. And we will have said we were there. Watching from inside our windows, or screens, waiting for this to subside.

During all of this, I have reached out to many of you. Being connected has never felt so amazingly good to me. It is the quick “hello”, or “what’s up”, or a Face Time session with dear friends to share a drink and chat. All so good. The one piece missing, that can bring me to my knees, is not having my mom to call. Don’t get me wrong. It would have been horrible to worry about her during this time. She would have been at the top of the compromised list. My worry would have run deep. Her loneliness would have pushed me to the edge daily. But I can’t help but wonder what her take on all this would have been. She was funny that way. Hard to predict which angle she would come from. It’s one of the things I loved so much about her. But a constant mantra of advice from her throughout my life was, “Corey, you just can’t worry. You have to live your life”. Even if I knew something troubled her, she would repeat that sentiment. You just can’t worry. Does no good.

So although all I want to do is worry; hide away inside my covers, and freak out about my loved ones, what will happen, will there be enough, will Henna have friends to reach out to, will we kill each other, will this ever end??? I will take a deep breath and remember her words and try to live by them. It helps. She was right. It does no good to worry. But it does do good to act; get up and live life, take a shower, form a routine, call a friend, Face Time with loved ones, read a book, and yes, plan for the future. That helps more than the worry.

So if you haven’t heard from me, know that I’m thinking about you. I hope you are in your home doing your thing, with loved ones, doing what you can. That’s all we can do. And when you see a photo of a bunch of young folks on a beach in Florida, not thinking about the right thing, know that I too am at home, shouting at the screen, wishing each one of them would get stung by a stingray. That helps too.

Stay safe friends.

Fare thee well,

Corinne