Trust Exercise
When my heart gave out mid-pandemic, I had to make some grown-up decisions.
Spoiler alert: I’m alive. But a few weeks ago, I wasn’t so sure that would be the case. After three months of quarantine and fear of contracting Covid-19, I was being attacked from within.
The pandemic, up to that point, had been a strangely productive time. I kept telling friends — well, some friends — that I had never been busier. Given the troubles everyone else was experiencing, I also felt that I should maybe keep it to myself. I was working sixty hours a week from home, cooking my own meals, taking online boxing classes several times a week, and I had even signed up for an online certification in BoxingYoga. On Wednesday nights, I gathered virtually with a group of old friends to watch and text about old, trashy movies. I felt increasingly tired, but who wouldn’t? I had left some projects unfinished — my home gym had half-migrated from one room to another, my long-unhung wall art had picked its new spots without actually getting hung. I also found myself wondering about the end of life, about the limits of my time here, and what I might be able to get done before it was all over. I attributed this last bit to the isolation, and to having perhaps too much time in my own head, but it may have been that my head and my body were trying to tell me something.
