On March 18 of this year of years, I joined a fledgling video story hour on Facebook. Initially I joined because I’m a fan of the host, a musician who plays the violin most beautifully behind and around my guy JT. Every day, at 5:00, I log on with a couple dozen other friends and fans to listen as our host reads from a wide variety of children’s classics, which has included Winnie the Pooh, Frog and Toad, and Dr. Suess favorites. After a few children’s stories, we settle in for a chapter or two from a novel, enjoying not only the literature but also the life that our host brings to the pages with her voices for the various characters and moods.
While our host reads, we listen and we exchange written comments in our chats about the book, all the while learning each other’s stories. The stories our host reads to us are soul soothing, mind enriching, and heart warming and the stilling of our minds and bodies for an hour each day has been a most needed retreat for most of us. “Storytime” has become, for me and I suspect for other members, as sacred as any other self-care ritual during this somewhat anxious time of social separation. Most of us are devoted participants who try and attend daily and we’ve come to know each other in a special and memorable way. Remarkably, our host has only missed a handful of times, showing up every day at the same time to read to us, to ask after us, to laugh and cry and wonder with us, and to wish us well at the end when she signs off with a kiss blown and a farewell of, “bye lovies, be well.”
A few days ago, a member of this little story club pointed out that it was our six-month anniversary and we celebrated by reviewing the many books our host had read to us. I marveled at the time that had gone by and all that we had read and all that we had shared. I also began to think about what these past months had looked like in our individual and collective lives. Having our frame of reference and our usual routines abruptly pulled away from us last spring, I was somewhat surprised to know that not only had Storytime been happening for six months, but also so had our days of quarantine and all that followed. Although I knew rationally that time had not stopped or stood still, it certainly felt that it had been paused or at least been put into some sort of slow motion special effect that kept us from moving through life at our usual speed and intensity.
From the beginning of all things Covid in our country, I have felt somewhat contained inside a bubble of sorts, removed from real life and time by guidelines and restrictions and beliefs and even dirty looks from other scared and angry folks. It has seemed to me that much of life hasn’t been real time but rather surreal time, with all of the separations and disconnects and uncertainties and cancellations and barriers. New ways of doing old things have felt temporary and false even though it’s likely that the new ways will be permanent and real. Like many, I have been waiting for a day when all can return to our feeling more sure and secure. I have been waiting for my story to continue in a way that feels familiar and safe.
But as I continued to process what the past six months had held, I began to see that though the days are surely different now, they are actually much the same. For as much as I’ve felt bubbled up and removed from reality, I’ve continued to live a life that includes and holds very real emotions, events, activities, and routines—some safe and familiar, some not so much but not all are unwelcome. We may be living in a new version of real life, but it is indeed real, as it continues to reveal the good, the bad, and all that lies in between. I’ve shared details of my life, parts of my story, with old friends and new friends and they have shared their stories with me, evidence that indeed life has not been standing still but rather, moving on in its way, taking all of us with it.
While six feet of air space, a mask, and a Plexiglas divider may protect us from aerosol contaminants, there is no bubble that will shield us from the spread of life’s pleasure and pain. We will continue to witness birth and death, we will receive both good news and bad, we will fall in and out of love, we will work and we will play, we will be ill and we will be well. We will feel both hope and despair, joy and devastation, anger and forgiveness. We will praise and complain, sleep and lie awake, and construct and destruct. We will succeed and we will fail. We will live. We will die. Most and best of all, we will love.
When Storytime celebrates its one-year anniversary in March of 2021, I hope to be more aware of the passing of time and to not be caught off guard by an amount of time that I disregarded as unreal. I hope I will look back at six months gone by and realize that even though I couldn’t do it all, I absolutely had it all. As for my newfound lovies at Storytime, I’m certain there will be celebration. It could be that we will celebrate a reduced state of quarantine and separation. It could be that we will celebrate a vaccine that protects us from further illness and death. It could be that we celebrate a restored economy and returned freedoms for worship, entertainment, travel, and hugging—please let there be hugging! Amid the uncertainties of what aspects of life may be worth celebrating in six months, of this I am certain: we will celebrate real life and friendship and love. And our stories.
Over Yonder 