Then I Remember
Someone, please wake me up and tell me this is a dream.
Each morning I open my eyes and for one second think, “What a crazy nightmare.” Then I remember.
There are moments during my day when nothing seems amiss. I still work from home, still make my bed, still start my day with meditation.
My days are broken up with six-mile walks around the city. Either along the Hudson River, around Central Park, or sometimes I pick an avenue and just go. And for a moment, the city looks the same, sounds the same, smells the same and my mind, which is having a hard time wrapping around this new reality, tricks me into thinking it’s an early Sunday morning and everyone is sleeping. But then I see a “closed” sign on a Starbucks in the middle of a workday and I remember.
I do the walks for exercise, but also for the normalcy it brings. People walking dogs, birds singing, flowers blooming has a calming effect. It’s spring, but this exciting time of the year when we open windows, clean out closets and make plans for summer feels hollow.
I’ve stopped thinking, “Last week I was raking leaves in Central Park.” “Last month I went to the theater three times in a week.” Now the days pass like a scene from the movie “Groundhog Day,” each day mimicking the day before. If we had a hard date of when this would be over, we might feel a little calmer, knowing we can get through this for 20 days. It’s the unending of it that makes my brain spiral into fear, and fear is not what we need right now. We need comfort and support. Then I remember. I have that.
I started a weekly Zoom call with family and friends. Seeing the familiar, loving faces of those who make me feel hopeful and happy is exactly what we need right now.
Wishing you good health and safety.
Sending a virtual hug.
Felice
Street recordings often capture the accidental rhythm of a city, so turning two photos into a short hotel lobby music video with its own template soundtrack feels like a natural extension of that idea. The 5 to 15 second length keeps it brief, almost like a field note.
Your point about not having a hard end date really resonates—it's the open-endedness, not the disruption itself, that feeds the fear. I've noticed that when I can't see an endpoint, my mind fills the gap with worst-case scenarios, so anchoring to small daily rituals becomes a way of staying present. I'm curious whether the walks feel different on days when the fear is louder, or if the routine itself helps quiet it regardless.
Useful reference: https://opus5video.com/
As a fellow parent of one, I’ve definitely cycled through that “is this okay?” guilt. But honestly, the solo-kid dynamic has its own charm—more focused time with you. Speaking of daily solo challenges, our family digs a certain 12-Letter Word Puzzle to reset our brains after bedtime chaos. Keeps us sharp!
What a beautiful reflection on memory and how it can catch us off guard. It makes me think of how music holds memories too, and how we can sometimes preserve them by practicing. I recently used SingingTest to Rate my singing and found it surprisingly helpful for tracking progress. Thanks for such a thoughtful post.
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