Afraid... But Not Bored
My friend Amy Hoban always said, “Only boring people get bored.” It made me realize I should take responsibility for boredom instead of succumbing to it. I’m home for endless hours now due to Covid 19, like most of us who aren’t heroes working in health care, grocery stores, government, and delivery jobs. I’m very scared, but I’m not bored.
I’m finally using the Calm app to meditate. I’m on Twitter following the awesome Gov. Cuomo; on Facebook where friends are sharing Edward Hopper’s solitary paintings; on Instagram admiring Bosque springtime buds from deborahwakshull and cheeseburgers from marketsteersteakhouse; on LinkedIn connecting with movie crew colleagues. I’m baking Irish Soda Bread. Co-writing a screenplay. Rewriting a novel. Doing mini Qi Gong sessions with my iPad. Taking Fields of Flowers calming tincture. Most of all, I’m trying to distract myself from coronavirus fears.
It helps to connect with the people I love. My cousin in Long Island declares with all the conviction of a New Yorker, “This isn’t gonna get us dead, Wolfie.” My friend in Albuquerque advises where to buy masks. Two chums in Connecticut plus my brother in Lake Tahoe recommend online bill-paying. An Eldorado buddy who’s a talented novelist suggests we critique each other. My screenwriting partner who’s also a realtor says we can use this time to collaborate more and maybe change our futures. My Jungian astrologer considers that coronavirus showed up in the stars as a dark collective transit for winter 2020; she thought a war might erupt but now believes the virus is an agent for change to help heal the planet.
My friend Sharona in Sacramento cut to the bone commenting, “If it’s my time to go, at least it’s a fast way to die.” Bleakly comforting, right? Sharona was one of my best pals in our twenties and thirties. We were wild together then, living in LA’s Laurel Canyon, hang gliding in Laguna Beach, taking Quaaludes. We did everything we wanted, including working in the rock music industry. Now she’s got auto-immune problems and is on infusions. And I’m terrified of not being able to breathe on a stretcher somewhere. At least we both know that we’ve made the most of our lives.
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Above: My mustang Ryo in Tesuque, NM. Our barn owner in Malibu described him as Ghandi-esque because Ryo didn't fight for the best feed bin like the other horses. When Ryo died in Tesuque, I turned on my car radio to hear John Lennon singing "Imagine"... that was Ryo "living life in peace."
PHOTOS BY WOLF SCHNEIDER