Missing People in a Pandemic

I love people. I knew that before, but there is nothing like a pandemic to illuminate what feeds your soul.  I love the kinetic zap of energy  that comes from a good conversation, a loving goodbye hug, a high-five after a great goal. I love sitting in the back row in my super queer church, feeling both blissfully alone in my own spiritual communion and completely connected to everyone else in the room. Even if I’ve never met them. I love that we are both there, alone and together. I love people watching. The kind where you can just soak in someone’s style, their vibe, brief snippets of their conversation, and then try to spin a life story for them from their choice of footwear and the way they hold their head when they listen to their friend. As opposed to the kind of people watching where you immediately freak out if they aren’t wearing a mask.

I am trying to balance the grief with gratitude. While we all grieve the incomprehensible numbers of people who are dying everyday, and the weight of our collective pain, I am acutely aware of, and deeply grateful for, my good fortune: the health of my family and friends,  my circle of love, and the incongruous beauty of these spectacular summer days. 

But today, I am just going to admit how much I miss people. I miss standing next to a bunch of kick-ass women, sweat dripping from our unforgiving neon pinnies, high from the game we just created together. 

I miss you, my people. I can’t wait to see your faces, to touch your skin, and to hug you all again.