Quarantine in the Wilderness

On Fat Tuesday as I was walking with Virginia home from after school, she told me she wanted to give something up for Lent. Her music teacher had talked to the class about Mardi Gras and Lent, and Virginia wanted to participate.

As a Unitarian Universalist, I wanted to encourage her religious exploration, but I also wanted to make sure she knew what Lent was and why she was giving up something. So we talked about it. I read her a couple of the descriptions of Jesus in the wilderness from the Gospels. And I told her about my experiences with Lent.

I gave up things a few times, including the time I gave up most meat and then continued to be a quasi-vegetarian for four years. But I did mention to her that the wilderness has held more meaning for me than the giving up of a thing. I told her a bit about my trip into the wilderness. She decided to give up chocolate milk.

* * *

In the fall, after running the Run Whitewater half marathon, I asked Virginia if she wanted to start training with me on Saturdays. Since I had no long races planned in the next few months, it was a good time for me to lower my mileage and then train back up. Virginia agreed. It didn't actually take us all that long to get back to 12 mile runs on Saturdays. Now we've worked into a rhythm where we alternate between running one Saturday and hiking the next. When snow still covered the ground this was a good way for us to get on trails without having to run in ankle deep (or deeper) snow. We were signed up for a half marathon trail run this spring that has recently been cancelled. 

Our hikes have usually been shorter, 3-5 miles, and on the little bit of trail right in town. This Saturday, now a bit stir crazy, and excited to get on trails without snow, we drove a few miles down the highway to the nearest access to the Ice Age Trail. We hiked a section that was a little over 4.5 miles one way. We brought our lunch and were out a good chunk of the day, hiking out and back. I hadn't realized how much I have missed rugged forest trails since we moved from Chapel Hill. 

It looks like I managed to bring Virginia into the wilderness with me this Lent. As I was thinking this, I realized how much time I've spent on trails or just running alone in the last several years. I wasn't a runner back in college when I spent my day in the wilderness. Usually if I spent a long time outside it was reading by the pool or lake. Now spending a day in the wilderness might be normal for me. How beautiful that the wilderness, that seems to be a theme running through my life, has become so much of my life. 

I run alone less now that Virginia is with me on Saturdays. But I don't miss that time I previously had to myself. (As an introvert, I find this kind of amazing.) Virginia truly enjoys running and hiking with me. And, at her request, we don't listen to our audio books. We talk. We talk for hours about all kinds of things. I still can't believe such a child exists and that she is mine. It is wondrous what we find in the wilderness. 

* * *

During this pandemic, while everyone is more or less quarantined at home, I see introverts joking, "I've prepared all my life for this." And extroverts saying, "Check on your extrovert friends. We're not okay!" 

I could do with a little more alone time. I'm spending a lot of time in a house that three other people (and a cat) live in. I must work in this house, while also trying to make sure my kids do their school work. (If I'm honest. John has done most of the heavy lifting on this. But the kids are still distracting and can be overstimulating.)

I think longingly of the spring break I spent alone in a cabin, writing my dissertation. There was such peace. Such calm. Such singularity of purpose. My brain was quiet, but also focused, and efficient. 

But I've learned this lesson before as well. The wilderness is not always pristine nature, away from all other humans. Sometimes it's a mall you are trapped in. Or a house. The wilderness is everywhere. And it can be human, and mundane. 

As always, peace comes with choosing to be here. And, when the time comes, choosing to go back to the wider wilderness of life.