“Would you like to take another machine?” I ask Claudia, as we stand in the church parking lot, a considerate 6’ apart. The Sewing Machine Project volunteers are amazing. When we weren’t able to work together on machines, they picked them up and took them home. Claudia is dropping off a checked over, cleaned up, Huskystar machine, ready to be shipped.
Claudia hesitates. “Not right now,” she says. She drops her eyes. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know…” her voice trails off, “I’ll get another one eventually but not right now.”
I know what she means. Though I can’t stand exactly in her shoes, I know well enough where she is. We’re all feeling it. That sense of overwhelmed-ness. That sense of weariness. That sense of something beyond our naming. We’re in limbo right now and we’re tired.
We are bombarded daily with the reality of the world we’re living in, like blows that won’t stop coming. We look into each other’s eyes through phone and computer screens and we see the exhaustion, the fear, the worry. And it’s not just the fact that an invisible virus is lurking around every corner. We each, all of us, have our own personal challenges that we often don’t share because we know that our little batteries are all so low.
And the grief. The grief inherent in this pandemic. And if we back up a minute to take the broader view, the grief for the world that used to be. For though we will emerge with triumphs and lessons, we will also lose much of the world we used to know. Our world will never be the same.
So how do we hold all of this? How do we look to one another and lean on one another when we’re not even allowed to hug? I believe it’s settling into the deeper knowing that we are all struggling. Reaching out to one another tenderly and (virtually) taking each other’s hand.
And holding ourselves tenderly.
Today. Go easy on yourself. Feel into what you need and give it to yourself, as a friend gives another friend the balm that will soothe them.
For this is all new to us and we’re all finding our way. Go easy.