“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us…” Charles Dickens - A Tale of Two Cities

A month has passed since I’ve written anything on this blog. A month of days, one like the other. Days that run into one another. No beginning and no end. Groundhog day, every day.

Almost 4 months have passed since we went into lockdown. Four months since we’ve been to the gym. Got our haircut. Hugged a friend. Four months ago things came to a screeching halt. So many plans abandoned. Flights cancelled. Readings postponed. Looking back, I do not think I understood how this would affect our lives. How long it would last. How things would change. Perhaps none of us did.

But that’s the way life is. We like to pretend that it is planned. That we have control. But that is an illusion. None of us can predict what comes next. Not really. None of us knows what tomorrow may bring.

Thirteen years ago my youngest brother got married. I wrote about it this way in my memoir.

“Robert and Tony’s civil union was a beautiful celebration. My mother and father beamed with pride as they watched them celebrate their love for each other. It had been such a long journey. I was proud of my parents in that moment, grateful that my father had worked so hard to move past his own fears. That he could accept my brother for who he was and I was happy that so many of the people I loved were there.”

Five days later my father would die of a massive heart attack, the day after my 48th birthday. He had been diagnosed with ALS just a month before. Still, I was not prepared for his loss, the suddenness with which it came. The effect that it had on my family. In a matter of 5 days we would hit the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. It would begin a process of redefinition. Of my family. Of our roles. Of our relationship to one another. Of my very identity. As we sit in this state of pause caused by this terrible pandemic, I am struck by the similarities to that time in my life. A time when nothing seems to make sense. A time of redefinition.

The other day I was listening to an interview with Elizabeth Lesser. In the interview she recited the opening lines to Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities, a book I was first assigned to read in high school but took until college for me to actually read. Dickens wrote A Tale of Two Cities in 1859, at the time of the French Revolution and yet his words so aptly sum up where we are right now. Each day. Difficult and beautiful. Each action, wise and foolish. Each moment, filled with hope and despair.

This morning I went for my regular walk with the dogs. In this time of uncertainty, the five miles out in the country have become meditative for me. I am calmed by the sunshine. The peaceful sound of birds. The joy I see on my puppy’s face as he peers through the fence at the small herd of goats that come to greet us.

So much is uncertain. We are not in charge. I remind myself that while we do not know what is to come, we have today.