Death and Taxes

It’s like when someone who never calls you back and never appreciates all you do for them finally calls you back and expresses their gratitude for what you’ve done. It’s a good thing, but it is also inconvenient. We count on the world to be as we imagine it to be and when it deviates, even to our benefit, we are required to do the work of redrawing our internal map.

Until this year, throughout my whole life, death and taxes were reliable. Death happened at some unknown point, and taxes happened on April 15th. Every year. Now, even though the iconic day has come, taxes still aren’t due. This isn’t right. (Though in fairness to the reliability of the universe, I do have to admit that taxes will certainly still be due.)

And when will we be able to eat out at restaurants again? When will we want to eat out at restaurants again? When will be feel safe enough to go to a public place with other people around to relax and share a meal? What if the waiter comes too close? Or if someone comes over while we’re sitting down and wants to talk?

I do predict that all this will happen, but it won’t be soon and it won’t be like it was. Going out to eat will involve behaviors and feelings that were unimaginable only three months ago. We are living into a future that will not be like the past. Things we counted on will be slightly or greatly shifted. New assumptions will be normal.

But for now, the full social distancing orders are still in effect here in Massachusetts. The number and the rate of rise of infections, hospitalizations and death continue to climb. The peak of our pandemic is due in the next two weeks.

The nature of a ‘peak’ is that you can only know it’s come after it’s gone. A peak is defined by the decline that comes after. Is today the peak of blooming cherry blossoms behind the Buddha statue in front of the Temple? Is today the time I felt most discouraged about the endless quality of this weird time? We’ll have to wait and see what tomorrow brings to tell the story.

Meanwhile, let’s turn as best we can to whatever is here.

April 15^th. Birds sing outside my window as the darkness of night slowly disperses. My plan: take a shower, make the rumpled bed then go check out the momentary appearance of the reliable old cherry tree.