I went to a concert a few days ago. It was a simple affair, set outside in the cool evening air by the river's edge. We sat apart from each other in the grassy amphitheater, chatting quietly while we waited for it to start.
Then the music began, and the fountain lit up with colored lights. Sprays of water moved and swayed to the tune. Little children began to dance, jumping and twirling to the beat. Babies toddled across the grass while kids whispered and giggled together. As we began to applaud, suddenly I stopped and looked at all the people around me and thought, what a blessing. What a miracle.
Just think of what life was like a year ago. The death toll was mounting. We were fearful and confused. Every day we were learning to navigate a world full of strange new challenges.
We were struggling with so many questions: How can I stay safe at work? How can I pay the bills now that I'm laid off? Is there hope? Will this ever be over? How do I say I love you through a window? And worse yet: How do I say goodbye?
Families stuck at home, crowded into rooms. Children missing their friends. Empty schools and darkened theaters. Seniors at home alone, with no one to talk to, looking out lonely windows with no end in sight.
We ventured out in fear, grabbed what we needed in stores and hurried home. At dusk we stood in balconies and applauded exhausted nurses and doctors. Suddenly we were watching the underpaid workers - truckers, grocery staff, meat packers - risking their lives to keep our world humming, and seeing them for the heroes they are.
But now, ever so slowly, the tide has changed. Thanks to the hard work of thousands of scientists and decades of work behind the scenes, a safe, reliable vaccine is here, and most of us rushed to get it as soon as we could. Everything that had ground to a halt has begun to slowly come back to life. And as it did, we've each had to figure out how to venture back into the world.
It felt strange at first, coming out from behind our masks little by little. Many of us, I think, are finding it harder than we expected. As the rules shift and the barriers fall away, it's natural to feel uncomfortable.
But it's worth it, if only for those moments of pure relief and gratitude: those "aah" moments when we feel the fresh air on our faces and taste the blessings we've missed for so long. Once we thought nothing of going out for coffee with a friend, having family over for dinner, meeting face to face to work and chat. Then all those ordinary, mundane miracles were swept away, and we were left to navigate a dry, muffled world, full of terrifying challenges and uncertainties.
Now, after living without all that for so long, we're seeing those moments with fresh eyes. We've had to lock them away for over a year, and rediscovering them is like dragging that dusty chest out from the closet and taking them out one by one, holding them up to the light and marveling at their beauty. Now I see them for the treasures they are, and they take my breath away.
The day my local library reopened, I walked up to the door and stopped and took a deep breath, smiling with every cell in my body. I wasn't the only one by far - the parking lot was full and the air hummed with excitement. There were dozens of us, taking our first steps back into the world. Yes, we still had our masks on, and the librarians were working behind plastic barriers, but as I walked up and down the aisles of one of my favorite places in the world, running my eyes over all I'd missed for so long - books! music! movies! - I thought, I'll never take this for granted again. It could be gone again in a heartbeat. I'm so lucky it's here today.
It's a slow journey, step by step, and I'm taking it a little at a time, but my list of blessings just keeps getting longer and longer. Our children came home, and we laughed and talked and even hugged. I saw dear friends I haven't been with in months. I've even traveled - carefully - and dipped my feet in the ocean. I'm venturing out into the world again, finally, and it's wonderful.
I'm so grateful, but I'm also feeling keenly aware of how far we have to go yet before all of us can be safe. One only has to turn on the news to see the heartbreaking struggle in many countries, grappling with terrible death tolls, desperate for the precious vaccines we take for granted. While we're shedding our masks, around the world so many are still caught in the pandemic, far from the solid ground we're enjoying.
It's up to all of us to help each other, and I was so proud this week to hear President Biden promise to donate half a billion vaccine doses to countries in need. Other nations are doing the same. The road out has to be walked by all of us, not just some, or we'll never get there.
As the last song came to a close, we all clapped and whistled. It was nearly dark, and the evening air was turning chilly. Parents carried babies, sleepy children took their parents' hands and headed off to cars and bed. We gathered our things and headed home.
Welcome back. And may we all, every one of us, find the blessed moments we've missed for so long.
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