I remember riding my bike through the vineyards of Napa and thinking I only had 10 miles to go until I returned to the car. But my friend shook his head. He had miscalculated the route and led us down a wrong turn which unintentionally added miles to our route. 20 miles, to be exact. I was furious. Running low on water and being completely self-supported in the heat made me anxious, antsy, and exhausted. In my mind I had allotted just enough willpower and water and Clif bars and positive motivation for 10 more miles, so spanning this across 20 miles felt nearly impossible.

The extensions for shelter in place through the end of April feel similarly. Just when I thought life would return somewhat back to ‘normal’, hearing we had another full month of no hugs, social distancing, cancelled vacations and working from home was like staring at the large hills in front of me on the bike and knowing I had 1/2 water bottle and limited patience to ration.

To provide some structure and break up the monotony in my day, I have intentionally added evening walks around my neighborhood. It is spring, and there are a plethora of flowers that decorate the yards. Cherry blossoms sprinkle the driveways and fall like snow on the hoods of cars. Daffodils line the porches, white tulips welcome guests to the front doors. Walking helps me stay present and think. My steps follow the rhythm of my thoughts- methodical and slow. I wander into new cul-de-sacs and enjoy the variety of architecture and landscaping of the houses. There are lending libraries in some neighborhoods. I’ve started to notice how the books change out. New ones arrive, others get borrowed out. These small wooden boxes full of books are a living example of the give-and-take of our community. How we learn and share and return our knowledge back into the world so others can benefit.

I’ve started to recognize families. The dad with the 2-year old son who rides the scooter with a blue helmet and the 6-year old daughter with the pink helmet always happen to cross Gloria Circle and Seminary Drive at the same time in the evening as I do, and now we wave and smile from afar. I pass by the house with the daffodils and see the message “Kindness is Contagious” written on the driveway in thick, bright colored chalk with pink roses circled around it.

I return the next day, but it has rained that morning and the message has been washed away. The roses now lay in a small heap.

Life is transient. This moment in history is teaching me to cherish and learn lessons from both joy and sadness as they come, knowing neither will last forever.

I’ve started to notice the different flowers and how they are all so unique. Slowing down has allowed me to see things in a new way.

The gift in this season is taking the time to slow down. To notice the details of our world and see things in a new way, from a new angle, with a different appreciation and perspective. The days may still feel like they are bleeding together. But I have learned that each day is still worthy enough to take out the thick colored chalk and write “Kindness is Contagious” in big letters on the driveway. Even if the rain will wash it away the next day. You’ll never know who you blessed in that simple moment.