For the past two decades, I've spent this weekend in Northern New South Wales for Bluesfest. Its cancellation has left a strange kind of chasm inside of me.
Your traditions are probably taking a break this year as well.
If I was one of those sprightly wellness-types I'd suggest you start a new tradition. Or offer some sage advice to help plug the hole in your life your ditched plans have left. That's not my style.
I have no idea how to help you feel comfortable on a weekend where our very necessary isolation might cut a little deeper than usual. But I can tell you what I'll be doing.
I'll be listening to John Prine's
first album. I'll be making
stock. I'll be trying to breathe as deeply as I can (I haven't taken a decent breath in weeks), and I'll be expressing as much gratitude as I can that I'm able to do any of these things at all.
There are more exciting Easters in our future. This one's about gratitude, about stillness, and about survival.
