I am so sorry we have posted so seldom since we arrived in Minnesota and during the road trip that brought us here. It seems strange to look back and realize how much time has passed in a haze of coughing, fatigue, and days that blur together. Since I got sick on May 1, I have yet to recover fully. Tom has been dealing with it since we left Vancouver, Washington, on May 12. When we say it out loud, it hardly seems possible that we have been sick for this long.
Something is unsettling about an illness that lingers. At first, you assume it will pass in a few days, maybe a week at most. You push through, telling yourself tomorrow will be better. But then tomorrow comes, and it feels much the same. And then another tomorrow follows. Before long, you find yourself measuring time not by what you have done or where you have gone, but by how you feel when you wake up each morning.
Tom is ahead of me on the recovery path, which is encouraging. I can see small improvements in him each day, and that gives me hope. Still, I know I am trailing behind, and I suspect I will be lucky to feel fully recovered by the time we board our flight to South Africa on June 9, nine days from now. I am holding onto the hope that I will be much further along by then, even if not completely well.
Right now, the idea of two full days of travel feels intimidating. Airports, long flights, waiting, walking, sitting for hours at a time. Under normal circumstances, it is simply part of the journey, something we have done many times before. But in this weakened state, everything feels magnified. Even the smallest tasks require effort and determination.
At this moment, as I write, we are sitting in a laundromat, 12 minutes from our hotel. It feels like such a simple errand, something we would normally do without a second thought. Yet today, this has taken planning and energy, and we are not sure we have. The hum of the machines fills the room, steady and almost comforting, but even being here feels like an accomplishment.
The laundry equipment at the hotel is not working. They installed a new payment system, which doesn’t work. Of course it isn’t. It seems fitting in a way, as though even the smallest obstacles have become larger than they should be. We look at each other, tired and a little frustrated, but mostly just resigned. This is where we are right now. This is what these days look like.
And yet, even in the middle of all of this, there is a strong sense of perseverance. We are still moving forward, even if it is slower than we would like. We are still showing up for the tasks that need to be done, even when they feel overwhelming. There is something to be said for that.
We remind ourselves that this will pass. That there will come a morning when we wake up and feel like ourselves again. The energy will return, and with it, the excitement for what lies ahead. South Africa is waiting, and we want to meet that experience with open hearts and renewed strength.
For now, we take it one day at a time. One load of laundry, one short outing, one small step forward. It may not look like much from the outside, but from where we are standing, it is everything.
Tomorrow will be our first real family outing since arriving, and it feels like a milestone. We are heading to Miles’ graduation party at Lake Waconia, something we have been looking forward to despite everything. It will be an outdoor event, though we hope there will be some cover in case the weather does not cooperate. Today has been grey and gloomy. We missed Miles’ graduation ceremony a few days ago, but were able to watch it on a live stream on the TV. There was no way we could have been sitting there hacking, disturbing the atmosphere for the graduates.
Even with the uncertainty, there is an excitement about finally stepping back into family life. We have spent so many days isolated, focused only on getting through each hour, that the idea of being surrounded by loved ones feels both comforting and a little overwhelming. It will be, in a way, our first test of how far we have come.
Next week is shaping up to be full, almost surprisingly so given where we have been physically. There is something planned nearly every day. On Wednesday, we will head into the studio to record another podcast with Joe Soucheray and the Garage Logic crew, something we enjoy and look forward to. It will be good to sit, talk, and feel connected again in that familiar setting.
In between, we will spend time with Tom’s siblings, their children, and grandchildren, as well as my son Greg and his three kids. These are the moments that matter most, the reason we made this trip in the first place. Being present for them, even in a limited way, feels important.
At the same time, there is an undercurrent of concern that we cannot ignore. After being sick for so long, we both know how fragile our recovery still feels. It does not take much to tip the balance, and the last thing we want is to relapse just as we begin to reenter the world. We are aware of our limits in a way that is hard to explain unless you have lived it.
So we will move carefully. We will pace ourselves. We will make every effort to rest as much as possible between these gatherings, even if it means stepping away early or sitting quietly while the activity around us continues. It is a different way of participating, but it is the only way that makes sense right now.
There is a delicate balance between wanting to be fully present and needing to protect our health. We are doing our best to honor both. Perhaps that is what this stage of life and travel is teaching us: how to adjust, how to listen more closely to our bodies, and how to appreciate even the smallest moments of connection.
Tomorrow will be the beginning of that effort. Rain or shine, we will show up, grateful to be there, hopeful that our strength will carry us through, and mindful of every step along the way.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, May 30, 2016:
