It’s the time of year where I dust off my crystal ball, aka flower aquarium, and start telling flower fortunes. Is this year any different than any year? In many ways yes. Yes. A resounding and holy and shocking yes. But in other ways, the future is always this: uncertainty. We are all craving ordinary uncertainty and I have to believe we will have that again.

There’s a song I’ve been listening to on repeat since it came out just a couple of days ago by Ray LaMontagne.

I feel as though I knew this song by heart before I heard it. Like it was in some huge rock and Ray chipped it out but it was always there. Or, it was in my bones, and this song seeped out. Or, I heard it in a dream, and then woke up and here it is. That’s how art works. And honestly, I don’t know that we’ll all be alright. We probably won’t. But maybe we’ll make it through. In fact, I’ve often said this to Rob, we always do. I’m also realistic. And I know, too, that my chances of being okay are not the same as it is for others.

I think we’ve all felt a bit of “advice fatigue.” And I don’t have much for you, other than to say what’s been working for me. I’ve been writing a ton in my diary, trying to get down what the days feel like. This, too, is a form of witnessing. I’ve been taking daily photos, drawing daily scribbles, I’m writing but very little. I’ve been remembering that even if I could be dead tomorrow, I could also be alive tomorrow. (This thought borrowed from the poet/undertaker Thomas Lynch). I’m looking into the future, but not too far. I’m looking into the future, and there are still flowers there.

May 11, 2020