Since the shelter-in-place rule came into effect, Rich and I have been going to his bike shop to ride upstairs. The shop is closed, and the mezzanine where the training platform is located is completely separate from the service area where he still does business in a curb-side manner. We arrive around 6 a.m. and with little to no warm-up (usually my fault) we beat each other up, playing to our individual strengths on the bike. For Rich, it’s the long steady efforts that favor courses like “Geiger Grade” a 12.75 uphill course that’s particularly brutal when you’re riding inside. Or, to mine: repeated punchy efforts over the course of an hour, like today’s ride when I’d innocently suggested we take alternating one-mile pulls, with the first three-quarters of the mile at a 70-80% effort and then ramp the final quarter to an “all-out” (6.0-8.0 watt per kilo). Either way, we’re gassed after the hour workout, which has become a great way to start the day.
We don’t talk when we ride, but we talk about it afterward, and it’s yet another way that Rich and I are becoming closer and sharing this strange life that exists in the midst of a global pandemic. I was thinking about this today—or for about a week now—reflecting on the darkness of my last blog, and searching my thoughts for that silver lining that exists in pretty much every situation. And then it occurred to me as I was taxing myself to the extreme on the bike this morning that for me, this situation isn’t really that bad.
In fact, as a writer, this is an incredibly wonderful moment to be in, to tell people’s stories and to listen to them— truly and deeply listen. One of the many pieces of information I heard loud and clear is that the 54 million Americans who have some form of arthritis are at a higher risk of contracting COVID-19. 54 million—that’s a lot. After posting a video of myself riding on the trainer for 54 seconds, I tried to come up with a blog that was 54 things I’m grateful for right now. You know what I discovered in doing that?
54 of anything is a lot.
And, I mean, I could have come up with the list and made you read it, but I thought it was more important to talk about the importance of feeling gratitude, and what you can do to express it even if you’re not entirely sure you’re feeling it quite yet (fake it ‘til you make it, right?)
I don’t know when I started doing this— maybe a week ago? But, I typically wake up an hour before my alarm goes off, and I never quite fall back asleep. Instead of being a source of anxiety (it would have been in my former life) I use that time to run through a list of all the things for which I am grateful.
Some days, it is very simple things: I am grateful for my fury blanket, and for the softness of our sheets. I am grateful that the birds are starting to chirp at dawn, and that a woodpecker has moved into the neighborhood. It’s fun to hear him chipping away. I’m grateful Rich isn’t snoring (much); I’m grateful for this time to be still and quiet in my body, and to think about all the ways in which life is and continues to be wonderful.
Other days, my thoughts are more complex. I’m grateful that I have a job where I do work in the world that matters. Even though I am working from home, I show up at my desk and my computer as if it’s a command station on a starship. I interview students. I interview staff. I tell the stories that people need to hear right now—and honestly, that they need to tell.
I am grateful for this office space that has turned me into what I have always wanted to be: this person who writes stories all day. Sometimes I even imagine my keyboard is a musical thing and that my fingers which dance across the keys are creating more than just “content”— but stories that are musical in the sense that they carry the voice of the speaker to the mind of the reader.
I really love that our Maremma dog, Freya, stays with me at the house all day. We have become very close, and that relationship is not something I would have been capable of imagining months before. She reminds me to get up and move from my desk where I write—especially around 10 a.m., her favorite time for our walk. She has started to be an assertive guardian of me against all people and other dogs. She is not like that when Rich is at home with us; I am deeply touched by this devotion, and I am grateful for it.
I’m grateful for the way that I’ve started to run again. Not far, not fast, not in any way that’s even remotely remarkable. Yet, there’s the simplicity of moving through the world one step at a time. I feel so incredibly grateful for that.
I’m grateful for my friends— new and old—who have kept in touch with me. I never knew that a text or email would mean as much as it does. Even my pen-pals, whom I have never met in person— hearing that they are OK brings me so much joy. For a person who loves solitude and quiet, I am also pleasantly surprised at how much I love all of you, too.
I am grateful for Rich— I suppose one always is grateful for one’s companion—but he’s been steadfast in his devotion to me, the house, his business. We have become true partners in this in every way and I honestly don’t think there is another person who could possibly weather this with me than Rich.
So, 54 million is a lot, but there are so many reasons to be grateful—probably many more.
Beyond all of this, I keep the California Coast Classic brochure tacked to my vision board in my office and I dream of the feel of the fog lifting, smelling of the ocean and the salty breeze in the air along highway 1. The wind and the sun and the rain, the feel of the pavement beneath my tires, and finally fulfilling this journey of raising awareness for an organization in which I strongly believe.
For now all of that exists in a world in which one pedal stroke at a time has to be enough. And it is—riding the bike is the best part of every day. Gratitude—more than anything else— fills my heart and tells me that no matter how this thing turns out, it will be OK.
If you want something to feel grateful for, you can get involved. Supporting organizations like the Arthritis Foundation is important now more than ever given the recent data that is being released about COVID-19 and its impact on those who have pre-existing conditions.
I also challenge you to take out a sheet of paper and write down 54 things for which you are grateful. Share them with your loved ones… or share them with me.
I am grateful for:
Sunrises.
That I am a part of #TeamCarter2020.
Riding CompuTrainer with Rich in the morning.
My quarantine partner.
My home office.
Writing—mine and others’.
The solitude.
The single ladies.
The eggs produced by the single ladies.
Sunshine.
Birdsong.
Blue skies.
The woodpecker who’s moved into the neighborhood.
Walks and hikes with Freya.
The quiet.
Podcasts.
Rebecca Solnit’s memoir Recollections of My Nonexistence.
The lettuce seedlings that are steadily growing.
The garden.
Patrick Stewart reading Shakespearean sonnets on Instagram.
All the dancing on TikTok.
Spring flowers blooming.
Conversations with my parents on the phone.
Knitting.
Video conferencing with my coworkers.
Creativity.
The artwork of Chuck Close and telling others about my love of the artwork of Chuck Close.
Learning to live with less.
Learning to shuffle dance from tutorials on YouTube (and doing them right!)
Coffee! I really love coffee.
Tea.
The cats.
Pen pals.
My adopted grandparent.
Being able to remember my dreams.
Poetry.
African violets that bloom.
Stretching.
Jumping.
Dancing.
Noticing and slowing down my breath.
The sound of red-breasted robins.
Rich’s delicious cooking.
Reading recipes.
The carwash near my house.
Every grocery store worker, health care worker and others who are doing the important work to keep society together.
Every single person who’s smiled or said something kind to me either in-person or online.
Rain.
The shape of clouds.
Sunsets.
Fruit trees in bloom.
The quietness of night.
The softness of the sheets.
That moment right before you fall asleep.