How Are You Today?

Today, I feel grateful.

I’m fever-free for the second day in a row. My dad and step-mom treated me to a Door Dash gift card, and the knowledge that at any moment, I could choose to collapse onto a couch rather than cooking for my children is exhilarating. The sky is blue, and I just went for a snowy walk. The snow clumped in balls, polka dotting the skeletal canopy with what looked like brilliant white leaves. A mischievous buckeye hurled one of these snowballs at me when my back was turned. I made a snow angel, just for the hell of it. I love today.

I might not love tomorrow. Tomorrow, I might not feel grateful. I might feel some combination of sick, exhausted, sad, lonely, apathetic, angry, or afraid. I might feel nostalgic for days like today or for days from my pre-Covid life.   

That’s okay. Today was only ever meant to last for a day. And tomorrow, however long it feels, will also be exactly one day long. And whether I walk through the day with a spring in my step or shuffle about in plodding misery, the day will pass. As will the next one, and the one after that. Each moment will pass, as all moments do.

This is not an argument for nihilism, for giving up, or for just gritting your teeth and bearing it. Instead, I think of impermanence as an invitation to hold each moment gently with an open palm. We can celebrate the ‘good’ moments with the same enthusiasm that we celebrate other temporary pleasures—annual flowers, birthday cake, the first swim of the summer, travel to a new place, shooting stars, or a visit with a loved one who lives far away. We know these pleasures will pass, and so we lean into them. We savor them.

When we also know that the hard moments will pass, we don’t have to feel quite so afraid of them. We don’t have to battle our emotions. We can allow ourselves a touch of curiosity about our grief, anger, sadness, resentment, or worry. They aren’t going to stick around forever, after all. There are moments and days and feelings and experiences after this one. There are other trees in the forest, and not all of them will pelt us with snowballs.

Maybe it’s a sunny day for you. Or maybe today feels like a blizzard. Maybe you can recite a list of one thousand things you feel grateful for. Or maybe the only list you feel like reciting is the list of your long-Covid symptoms. I get it; I’ve been there. And hey, there is a moment after this one.  

How are you today? How are you doing with this whole impermanence thing?