life on hold

We hold our breath. And we wait. For the next announcement, the next restriction, the next cancellation. There is no rhythm in our days as we put everything on hold, or feverishly stock up on provisions - just in case.

Such an atmosphere of fear, of uncertainty, of living at the edge ... on the edge ... at the brink of something that reaches beyond our control. It defies us and takes a life of its own.

Yet we try, desperately, to contain it, to understand it, and to protect those whom we fear will not survive it.

A vortex of fear that spins and spreads into every crevice, tapping into our even bigger fears and exposing them.

We face the threat of separation - not only from our routines and our daily rhythm, but potentially from those we love - and this threat is too big to contain. It consumes us. And it further feeds the mushrooming fear that seeps through (and under and over) the borders we have tried to build to keep it at bay.

How do we live in this place?

Of fear, of uncertainty, of life (as we know it) on hold?

As I write this I am at the lake watching the ducks and the geese live out their lives unaware of the chaos. I put on hold for a moment the news of the latest developments, and I sit.

And I am reminded that there is a whole world that lives outside of my fear.

Tapping into this world helps me put perspective on what threatens to consume me and the rhythm of my day.

It helps me put the fear on hold, at least for a few moments, long enough to let out the breath I have been holding.

And it makes me realize that I will need to be intentional in finding more of these moments to step away from the uncertainty and the collective fear, and to breathe. At least until life finds its rhythm again.