The Not Knowing
Author’s note: This blog post was originally published on March 26, 2020, while I lived in Madrid. We were a couple weeks into Spain’s strict pandemic lockdown, and ended up spending 45 days completely locked down in our apartment except for trips to walk the dog and buy groceries. Our children, then aged 4 and 6, were not allowed outside at all during those initial 45 days.
There are moments when I can almost will myself to forget our new normal. Like when I’m lying in bed in the morning and my eyes haven’t yet adjusted to the morning light (or the light of my phone, if I’m honest). Or when I am taking our dog for his last walk of the day, and the neighborhood seems simply asleep, not desolate. In those moments, I picture what my normal daytime Madrid life would be like. I’d step out of our apartment and have a bustling metropolis at my fingertips. I’d walk the kids to school, then pop into my favorite cafe with friends for an impromptu coffee. I’d smile at the tourist buses zooming down Calle Alfonso XII and roll my eyes at the locals linking arms and blocking the entire sidewalk. The hustle bustle of the city would fill me with energy, and Retiro Park, visible from our balcony, would beckon me for a run around its perimeter.
I luxuriate in those moments, letting myself remember the way the city filled my spirit just a couple weeks ago. Then something snaps me back to reality. A reality that came to life seemingly overnight, and that no one knows how long will last. And that, so far, has been the hardest part of this for me. The Not Knowing. Not knowing when this bad dream will end. Not knowing if those dear to me are all going to stay safe. Not knowing when the city I love will spring back to life. Will it be a couple of months? Or will the remainder of our time in Spain be spent isolated in our flat? I try not to let my mind go there.
There are worse things, to be sure. I can’t even imagine the grief that those who have lost loved ones to Coronavirus must be feeling. Or the fear that those who are currently ill or vulnerable are experiencing right now. This is not that. But it is still real, and it feels crushing sometimes.
It comes and goes in waves. For every low moment, there are a handful of highs. Moments when I feel like I really am hanging in there and handling this ok. And even at my lowest, I have continually been humbled by the kindness and generosity of others. The daily 8 pm applause for the medical workers never fails to put a smile on my face and makes me feel connected not just to my neighbors, but to all of Spain. People coming out of the woodwork from near and far to check in on us and staying connected in a way they never have before. Our building manager offering me one of his only extra face masks, out of concern for our children (especially selfless when you consider he’s had a number of health issues and has his 88-year-old mother living with him - I politely declined but was very moved by the offer).
There is no cure for the Not Knowing. It’s always been there, because the truth is, you really never know. But what I’m starting to realize is that being grateful - being present and really noticing all the good stuff, no matter how small - that’s the only real antidote we have. And if we take away anything from this pandemic, I hope it’s this: Be grateful. There is so much to be thankful for.
