When out, I fumble with my mask, flounder around with my purse and get anxious. At home I forget where I put my phone, lose my glasses, and feel as if I am living in a constant fog. I have lost the ability to multitask, unless I am cooking, and can read for hours on end, and yet, struggle to remember the name of the main character shortly after turning the last page.
Maybe I should be worried, but honestly feel I am suffering from brain fog, brought on by isolation. As cases of the virus climb, and new mandates are put into place, my world becomes smaller and smaller. I am out of practice, losing skills that were second nature to me, because I don’t use them often enough.
A few days back, the fog sat over the lake below our home all day. The day was dreary, full of rain, mist and a darkness that never lifted. And yet, I was so drawn to that fog, that I kept my camera handy, taking photos throughout the day. I not only noticed the fog, but also the tiny drops of rain on the beautiful burgundy canes of our red twigged dogwood. And, come evening I watched as a herd of nine deer made their way through our neighbors yard to bed down in our front yard. Because my camera was out and ready, I caught it all.
Later, as I examined the photos on my computer I found beauty in the details the fog created as it moved among the hills all day. Calling attention to certain aspects that might have been overlooked without its presence. And among those deer, I think I spotted Rudolph.
I am learning to embrace my foggy brain, understanding that by letting go of some of the mundane things I use to carried around in my head has allowed me now to focus on things that were maybe overshadowed by all that clutter. Bringing to the forefront the things that truly matter and giving them my full attention is more important now than it has ever been.
Besides, I can always use his phone to call mine if I really need it.