With Anika and the kids safely back home in Bozeman, the energy around Punta Bufeo Yacht Club (the name of our beach house, given by the prior owners) dropped discernibly. JD, Lee, Kathy and I slip into a rhythm of sleeping in, daily naps, and simple dinners followed by movies and popcorn. All of us seem to need some downtime to recharge, after weeks of travel and a house full of company, amidst making our decision to stay here, sequestered, for the foreseeable future of the global COVID-19 pandemic.

We have internet and satellite TV down here at our house, so we’re connected with the rest of the world. However, our internet service plan is “data limited”, so we have to exercise discipline and restraint in order to stretch out our allowable gigabytes (GB) through the month. It was initially set at 20GB per month, but our household of four quickly burned through that, and so we upped it to 50GB. We’re all optimizing our phones and iPads to stop using data unnecessarily, changing settings to stop Facebook from automatically playing videos in our video feeds, and stop photos and videos from automatically backing up to iCloud, etc. Calls over WiFi are possible, but consume a lot of data, so we’re reserving them for checking in on my parents, JD’s daughter Kara (who is expecting her 3rd child, our 5th grandchild, at the first of May) and other critical needs. Our satellite TV feed gives us local channels from Southern California, and national media/news channels like CNN, MSNBC, etc., so we are able to keep tabs on the pandemic and responses to it.

We work hard to put away the electronic devices, and savor the ability to simply be outside, something we once took somewhat for granted, but no longer do, particularly because we know so many other human beings across the globe aren’t able to right now. Although we acutely feel the isolation from our loved ones back in the US, and wish we could talk with them and hear their voices, we are safe here. We have daily conversations about how fortunate we are to be able, so far, to weather this storm here. For me, the blessing is visceral: the ocean is a landscape that I associate with some of my earliest and fondest memories from my youth, the images and sounds of which have always been a form of meditation for me. I am especially thankful for the ability to talk with my parents a few times a week for a precious few minutes; so far, miraculously, they are stable there at home in South Carolina. My dad’s ability to be sequestered with my mom, now 5 years into Alzheimer’s, himself with an array of health problems (which put him at high risk for COVID-19), around the clock, trying to keep their spirits high, is deeply moving and inspirational.

We have stocked up on provisions that can last us a month if necessary; we have plenty of clean drinking water from the nearby reverse osmosis plant, and an additional supply of fresh water from our well, which is drinkable if need be. We have salt water for showers and flushing toilets, and plenty of propane for cooking. The only thing that would cause me to leave would be a change in the health status of my parents or one of our other loved ones ; while I, like the rest of the world, am hoping not to confront that in the midst of this pandemic, I am resolved to cross that bridge when I come to it.

When I am able to manage my own emotions and frustrations, and return to a state of calm, non-judging observation, it is really interesting to watch our group of four people, with our different levels and patterns of interacting with each other and the outside world via our electronic devices, and different personalities (e.g., extrovert/introvert) and communication styles, cope with this isolation amidst growing concern for ourselves and our loved ones, and the world at large.

The angst over making the decision to stay amidst so much uncertainty, and watching and helping others make their own choices, definitely took its toll on me, a textbook, empathic, introvert. After being down here for a month and a half, and hosting company for almost that entire time (except the week and a half when JD and I had the flu), I was already overspent. I didn’t realize how out of alignment I was until I exploded at JD for something that was, in hindsight, embarrassingly trivial. While I can’t undo that, it was a painful lesson that failure to take care of myself hurts not just me, but those that I love most in this world. And so, I’m beginning again, this time with clearer and stronger resolve, to work every day to “put on my own oxygen mask first”, and trust that by so doing, I’ll have more to offer others.

I rediscovered the ground beneath my feet by resuming my daily practices of yoga and meditation – initially outside by the water, and later, with the arrival of the bobos (small gnat-like insects that swarm around your face), inside our truck camper. When at the shore on my meditation cushion at sunrise, our dog Pelli and another beach dog Chiquita would frequently ambush me in their morning playtime, giving me ample opportunities to smile, return my attention to my breath, and let go of agitation or the temptation to follow their playful distraction. When in my camper, invariably a flying insect of one form or another would arrive to provide the same instruction. And slowly, as I continued devoting space to sitting quietly, synchronizing mind and body, returning over and over to my breath, I began to understand the sacredness of learning to stay.