We are all experiencing so many different emotions from moment to moment as we continue on this marathon amid the pandemic. For me days are filled with deep gratitude for what is going right and for every comfort that is still in my life. Other days feel more bereft with grief brought on by the smallest vignette – a man helping an elderly man with his mask on the sidewalk, stories about resilience and businesses shifting gears to keep their doors open.

For us, it has been a pretty steady feeling of preparing for take off, the exhilaration of flight followed rather quickly by another unexpected pause. We celebrated launching our website and hosting our first (socially distant) indoor group right as Dane County handed out stronger restrictions due to the pandemic, putting a bit of a wrench in all of this forward momentum. It seems each moment of celebration and growth is accompanied by a reminder that life isn’t normal right now, that we can only do what we can. Somehow we must come to peace with this odd pace and all that is out of our control. 

I am deeply aware of the constant dance between grief and gratitude right now, and at times I feel exhausted by it. Then gratitude kicks up its heels, and I burst with energy, joy, and productivity. Some days that’s easier than others. On my best days, I feel a deep sense of gratefulness for all of the things that are going well. And on the harder days I feel a deep well of grief.

The strange rhythm of life right now brings to mind a longtime favorite quote from F. Scott Fitzgerald: “So we beat on, boats agains the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” The currents will flow freely again, they will. I look eagerly forward to that day. The bigger question feels like, how will we get there? What will we fill our days with as this rhythm continues to beat on? How do we recharge and carry on at just the right pace so when this fog lifts we feel whole, human, capable.

Again, on my good days I keep my mind and my heart in the sky, continuing towards my biggest dreams and starriest future. On the tougher days I wonder if I’m doing anything right. On those days I have to dig deep to remind myself that these swells are part of a process that is unfolding. We can’t see our futures. But we can listen to our guts for direction and action.

My sweetest moments continue to be when I’m out with the horses, away from the sounds of the city, away from the reminders of grief and masks and chatter. And for that, I am deeply grateful.