Karissa Zastrow
When I first heard the whispers about Covid-19, I hoped it wouldn’t make its way north. But then schools and businesses shut down and cases were reported in my county. I felt as though I was sinking, sucked down and trapped in quicksand. While I try to find my new “normal” I have been trying to find the calm in quiet and solitude. As someone who thrives on busy hallways, social interactions, laughter, and events, I have had to dig deep to find the small moments that inspire hope.
I found it in the two-hour conversation for the second night in a row with my youngest sister, who I haven't talked to in months because we’ve been “too busy.” We laughed until we couldn’t breathe, and tears trickled down our cheeks. My heart felt lighter.
I found it watching a robin dance on my lawn two days after the first day of spring and four days after my social isolation started. He didn’t fly away as I made my way past him to my front door. I paused for a minute as he hopped toward me and looked into my eyes before chirping. I watched until he flew away- a reminder that freedom will come again soon.
I found it in words. First, in a phone call about my grandfather. I chose to focus on the words “caught early” and “very healthy” rather than “cancer” and “surgery.” Next, between the words in my new book allowing me to escape real life for a while and live in a pandemic free world full of social interaction.
I found it in the texts, phone calls, e-mails, and other messages from coworkers, colleagues, friends, classmates and family checking in to make sure I am okay while isolating alone. I take these moments to reconnect now that parts of life are on pause.
I found it in a stranger who yelled hello to me through her face mask and from a safe distance—a sign that we have not lost our kindness in the madness.
I found it in a new song that I play as loud as I can. I sing-scream along with the artist as I wander around my house, trying to stay busy and keep my anxious thoughts at bay.
I found it along the riverbank, as I listened to the water rush by and cleanse my soul. Looking up at the sky, I took time to imprint the gradation from orange to pink to purple as the sun set in the distance.
I found it when the sun burst through the clouds after a week of grim, gray days as if exclaiming, “don’t worry! I am still here!” I turned my face toward the sun, soaking in the warmth and closed my eyes before whispering, “me too.”
Karissa Zastrow is a writer and graduate student who currently resides in Menomonie, WI.