Keeping Hope on this Side of my Window
I can see a beautiful blue sky, magnolias, and cherry blossoms from my window. It’s certainly Spring, and I feel that leap and release in my heart that comes around every year at this time. That joy is muted this spring of course, as COVID-19 isolation means that this window view is mostly where I stay.
I’ve been in isolation since mid-March, and as an arts professor in Vancouver, BC Canada, I’m still working with my students to draw the semester to a close. I work with upper-level students working on long-term animation projects. This has thrown them all off balance, even causing some of them to be unable to continue any of this work. In many instances, deep depression and frustration has been a significant aspect of their new spring. My online meetings were that of a front-line mental health crisis worker, conversing, listening and supporting. In the background, I was scrambling with the other faculty to find solutions and methods where there was nothing but unknowns at that time.
Since the initial couple of weeks, we’ve been able to regain some footing, and creatively solved issues along with many people, companies and services stepping in to help. But with everything put together, I’ll admit that it’s still not alright, and it is getting to me. Hearing that I’m bound to contract this virus at some point is leaving me worried about the future. Our upcoming school year is going to be a test of resilience on so many levels. But, I’m luckier than some others, in that I have a full-time position and I’m currently healthy.
This was going to be the summer that I was finally going to be able to take a real break, and not worry about moving, tenure, or my own art projects. Depending on how things go, I’m imagining packing up my car and going on an extended camping trip as I tour British Columbia with my dog. I have that hope tucked into my back pocket right now, helping me to keep that little bit of happy with me, on this side of the window.
