Fourteen months.
That's how long it's been where I live since the government told us all to go home. And we've all got various versions of that same story. Ever-changing restrictions, never-ending pivots.
Fourteen months.
Today our premier announced Quebec's re-opening plan, all the various stages, until the end of August. It's the first time, I think, that he's announced a plan more than two weeks ahead. It seems reasonable to me, laid out in stages. I appreciate seeing that far ahead. I have questions, but fourteen months of press conferences has taught me that the answers will come eventually, and there's no point getting too worked up before they do.
I'm surprised by the emotion I'm feeling. Not the relief - that's to be expected. There's a light at the end of this long tunnel - we're almost there. We did it, collectively. We made it. The premier smiled today, joyfully, and I don't think I've seen him smile much over these months.
But something else too. Something uncomfortable ... stressful ... that tightness in my chest ... what? Truthfully, this means another pivot, and likely not the last one. And even though it's a good pivot, it's another change, and change takes energy, and the weariness is real.
I had a week of vacation last week. One day back, and the weariness came with it. It's ok. Everyone's weary, I think. One day at a time.
Suddenly, other people's expectations of me (perceived or real) will change. "Open the doors, Pastor!" Most are unaware of the work involved in each pivot, and that's ok, why would they know?
I took the pup for a walk after the press conference, and ran into two other women and their pups. We walked together. They felt the same as me - relieved ... but a bit uncertain.
One is in HR and she knows she won't get her office back. They've restructured the office space, and her job doesn't need to be on-site. So she'll still be working from home permanently, and when she bought her condo, that wasn't the plan.
The other is a teacher and she's going back to shared office space and over-crowded classrooms. Teaching online was tough ... but she's not quite jumping for joy to return, full speed ahead.
I thought about restaurant owners. So many have simply lost their staff. They have to re-hire, and it's hard to re-hire when you don't know a re-opening date. Now they all know the date, and the stress of hiring, training, re-opening will be real. If they don't, customers will complain - "Open the doors!" - unaware of the work involved.
I wonder how many of us are feeling this? Joy ... with a side of anxiety. Relief ... wrapped in fatigue. Hope ... but holding it in check, because it might change again. Deep breath ... dig in ... push through.
We're out of margin. Out of rope, and just hanging on firmly to the knot at the end. I likely thought that when an announcement came like today's, we'd all pour out dancing into the streets, like when the end of a war was declared. But of course we can't, because it's not over, and there won't be a single "moment" when everything changes. It will change gradually, one step at a time.
I'm mostly staying away from social media lately. The noise is too much, not good for my soul. Turning it off is a way to re-gain some margin. So ... I'm blowing the dust off this blog, at least for this day.
Here's what I think. We're all tired, bone-weary. Or at least many of us are. And we're nearing the end, which is good, but ... when you're both tired AND almost done, the temptation can be to stop caring and stop trying so hard. Which is fine, unless you're in a situation where everyone is feeling the same thing.
It'll be closer to eighteen months when it's all said and done.
So I guess ... let's not stop trying, ok? Let's give lots of grace, show lots of kindness, choose lots of patience because although we've all been through various versions of the same story, none of us has exactly walked the same story. I don't know your unspoken challenges and you don't know mine. And we're on the last leg, yup, but we're not done yet.
And we did it, collectively, we made it, and we're almost there, and it's been a long marathon, I know. I'll grab your hand if you falter, and you do the same, and we'll together get across this finish line.
