Fulfillment

This entry is part 7 of 11 in the series COVID-19

I always like having goals, long-term and short-term. They get me up in the morning and push me forward when I am tired. I always have a list of projects somewhere on my desk: new pieces to learn, challenging repertoire to revisit, performances to prepare, or—for fun—a new recipe to try, and a new kind of flower to grow. I love the sense of fulfillment whenever I cross of an item on the lists.

In mid-March, before the official implementation of PAUSE, with the anticipation of the unavoidable, I made a long list of projects to keep myself entertained. I wished to write to many friends. Some of them helped me through the months while mom was ill and hospitalized. I was behind on the upkeep of my blog. I needed to prepare the garden for a new year of growth. I liked to tend to the once-abandoned hill next to our building. I should repaint the window casings.

I got going. And, everything on my list began to take on a life of its own. As I wrote to some old friends, I thought about more people whom I hadn’t heard from for a while. While reorganizing my site, I saw more and more details needing attention. Once the winter debris were removed, seeds need to be sown and old plants need to be fed. There were endless chores to be done on the hill and numerous varieties to be identified. And, the window casings. . ..

It takes forever to get these things done. And, there is an overabundance of “forever” in my life as well as in everyone else’s.

Many of my colleagues are taking the opportunity to polish up their work, to plan future performances—whenever they might be, and to support each other’s efforts moving forward. For us, losing a few upcoming jobs is less worrisome then not knowing when or if our old routines will return. For me, the most urgent thing is to stay inspired.

I thank my friends who sent me music to read. I thank my friends who asked me to explore new ideas. I thank my friends who checked on my progress. I am thankful for all the people that make it possible for me to be fulfilled.

Bridge crossing

This entry is part 6 of 11 in the series COVID-19

I always enjoy long walks. In the last few weeks, these outings on foot allowed me momentary sense of freedom and reminded me of the existence of others. On Easter Sunday, my friend Dave and I decided to walk across George Washington Bridge.

Bridges are Manhattan’s only connections to the outside world by land. Most people cross these bridges for work, for exercise and, from time to time, for sightseeing. Brooklyn Bridge is the most pedestrian-friendly and, therefore, the most popular choice for the locals and tourists alike. George Washington Bridge is the one closest to my home. A grand double-decked suspension bridge over Hudson River, GWB connects Fort Lee, New Jersey and Washington Heights of New York.[1] The bridge itself is a sight to be revered. On one side, New Jersey Palisade cliffs stretch out for miles. [2] On the other side, clouds of mid-rise apartment buildings of Upper Manhattan counterpoise the natural beauty.

As much as I admire the bridge, I usually try to avoid being part of its heavy traffic load. Cars are either zooming pass as fast as possible or releasing exhaust fume in a traffic jam. Although there are pedestrian and bicycle passes on both sides of the upper level, the north side has been closed for years.

Yet, on this beautiful sunny day, traffic was light. There were plenty people walking or jogging to and from either direction, smiling and nodding politely while trying to avoid contact. Cyclists, perhaps suffering from cabin fever, seemed more aggressive than usual.

Except for a few slow-moving barges, the river was calm. New leaves just started coming out from treetops. Palisade cliffs, deprived of any natural covering, were stunningly edgy. Downtown Manhattan appeared dreaming from a distance. The northern tip of the island quietly struggled to wake up from the previous night. If not for the sirens and ambulances rushing by, everything seemed perfectly pleasant.

The sereneness of that morning, contrasting to the darkness of reality surrounding us, continues to haunt me.


[1] George_Washington_Bridge_Wiki
[2] The_Palisades_(Hudson_River)_Wiki