Except just now, of course. Like many of you, I ended up walking lonely as a cloud this morning. (Why a cloud, Wordsworth? Just for the rhyme?) Anyway, I went early and it was grey and colder than it’s been for awhile which sort of matched my mood.
As I walked I listened to the Munk podcast which had been recorded before the Ontario pandemic edicts for the weekend were announced. Each of the announcers searched for a word to describe their reaction to the current state of affairs. One chose “bleak : a middle-aged father who cannot see his family or friends, whose children cannot go to school, who can no longer really the count on an end point. The other chose the word “grit.” It’s not more hopeful, just determined to hold on.
All along, I have been chirping on about having a birthday party in June, even if it’s just a backyard do. Now, I don’t feel too hopeful of that. But I still prefer grit to bleak.
“Grit is not just simple elbow-grease term for rugged persistence. It is an often invisible display of endurance that lets you stay in an uncomfortable place, work hard to improve upon a given interest and do it again and again.” Sarah Lewis