Over the weekend I made a trip into my office to pick up some books and papers, and to bring home my plants. The eerily quiet world sharpened my attention. Nothing felt ordinary about the familiar drive to downtown Lexington, and the short trip seemed to take a long time. My usual sense of knowing what to expect is gone.
I pulled into the lot for the first time in ten days, pulled a Clorox wipe from its plastic canister, and rolled my folding hand truck to the door. After wiping down the metal plate of the door handle and tugging on it to allow the deadbolt to turn, I waved my fob in front of the electronic lock and opened the door.
The beauty and peace of the office suite was the same as ever. A sense of warmth and serenity permeated the space. I made my way down the hall, moving past other welcoming rooms. One practitioner left a beautiful silk flower on her massage table, holding space for seeing her next client, whenever that may be.
Stepping into the reassuring familiarity of my office, I felt a sense of relief. So much has changed, but I still drew pleasure from the art on the walls and small sculptures on the shelves. I felt embraced by the soft light, the well-fitting curtains I sewed, the books waiting to be consulted, the tea ready to be brewed. The chairs sat at an easy distance for conversation, less than six feet apart.
I felt the safety and support that I’ve worked to provide for others within these walls, yet at the same time a deep sense of sadness that none of these healing spaces can be used for now. Every part of this suite offers a spirit of tranquility and healing—gifts that we desperately need in these days. The absence of people in this beautiful place is heartbreaking.
Those of us working in these spaces didn’t have the chance to say goodbye, and now we bide the time in our separate homes. Along with the rest of the world, none of us knows when we can return or how the world will look when we do. We wait, doing what we can while the world is remade.
The plants were a little dry, but still green. I put the heaviest one on my rolling cart and carried the others, loading them all in the back of my car.
I’m taking care of my office plants at home for now, where I’m tending most everything else. I’ve moved to Zoom for meeting one-on-one and with groups. I’m grateful for the technology that allows me to work and lets all of us to keep in touch.
As most everyone is doing for now, I’m working at keeping life alive in whatever way I can.
