I’m seeing so much of this in my practice–people are finding this time challenging, yet they acknowledge that others might have it harder, so they feel guilty for complaining and attempt to deny their own struggle. This is not helping anyone. Of course it’s important to keep perspective on the range of ways people are affected, but also, all suffering is valid. There’s no need to compare or invalidate any struggle. Give yourself space, patience, and compassion for whatever you’re dealing with. If you still find yourself feeling guilty, let that feeling fuel you to show up in service in any way you can.

In 2017, I packed up my family and traveled around the world for 7 months. After 15 years in NYC, I had been craving nature, dirt, and serenity. We sublet our apt and switched to working remotely so we could live on a permaculture farm in New Zealand, hike the Na Pali Coast Trail in Kauai, swim in the Dead Sea, surf among dolphins in Byron Bay, Australia, and live on a farm in Sicily, eating the food grown in their rich, volcanic soil. You know what else we did? We took 25 flights. I’m not proud of this.

When I look around NYC these days, I notice the absence of constant overhead flights and helicopter tours, that the monolithic cruise ships no longer set sail every Sunday. I also notice the absence of smog, that the Hudson River looks cleaner, and the air smells fresh. I’m grateful for every chance I’ve had to experience the wonders of this planet, and I realize now the best way to practice devotional worship of our planet is to slow way down, keep it simple, keep it local. It would be disingenuous for me to say I’ll never travel again, but I do plan to make these choices consciously. Booking a flight, having something shipped to my door from a factory across the world…the true cost is hidden. Our economy has made these things more accessible than they actually are, and our planet foots the bill. On this earth day, I’m meditating on Thich Nhat Hanh’s words: “walk as if you are kissing the Earth with your feet.”

Every time I take my daughter outside for a walk, I notice that spring is putting on a grand performance of tulips, daffodils, and dogwoods to an empty theater. We walk along the deserted streets, taking in the poignant, fleeting beauty of each crocus all for ourselves. I think about all the New Yorkers, holed up in their apartments, missing spring. And it occurs to me, while we may be missing spring, there is also a springtime of my daughter’s life, that I was partly missing in the pre-coronavrius days of school, childcare, and long work hours. Now, with equal parts gratitude and feeling like I’m drowning with work, I spend long stretches of the prime working hours of the day sitting on the floor playing legos with my daughter. Acknowledging the privilege in this (some parents still have to report to work, even if it puts them at risk, some are forced home but with immense financial stress…), I can’t help but notice that this global shift has coaxed me and many parents into closer connection with the springtime of our children’s lives.

In the past we would preferentially connect with friends and family who live locally. Now it’s all the same zoom call whether we’re hanging with the friend from down the block or the cousin who lives on the other side of the planet. To me it’s a silver lining that social distancing has paradoxically eliminated the distance between us and our loved ones scattered across the globe.