I don’t exhale completely, face down on head rest at chiropractors office.

‘I don’t want him to know I can’t breathe because of my allergies’, I think to myself.

‘I can’t exhale all the air out of my mouth, so I can’t completely relax, so he won’t really be able to work effectively, but it’s ok, because at least he won’t be scared of me.’

So I hold my breath and we do mediocre work to get my body untangled from all the chaos and the sitting and the belly aches.

Breathing, an essential component of this human experience.

Being myself, even more integral.

It feels like I can’t be either on these days.

I’ve forgotten how to live.

I text my friend, my soul brother, from long ago. He tells me of his fear. He speaks of his isolation. Works all day, works his body to the bone, sleeps and does it all over again. Overworked and overwhelmed and overfeared.

I see him at an outdoor market. I nearly run to hug his masked face body. His hugs were the coziest of blankets, his heart bigger than the entire galaxy. His love for me, from centuries of play, our souls know each other well.

His energy blocks my passage past 6 feet of him. I’m not allowed to get any closer, he declares.

My eyes widen, my heart drops into my belly. I can’t breathe for the rest of our meeting.

I love with my hands, with my heart, through hugs and handshakes. I love with side squeezes and in tousling hair.

I love through sharing food and space. I love through being close to you and you being close to me.

And in these days, I’ve forgotten how to love.

So I stay away. I detach from my go-to loved ones. My friends and chosen family.

I find new friends and chosen family. They remind me that it is ok to exhale completely, even if its through my mouth. It’s ok to share space and food.

It’s ok to drink from my daughters cup and just fine for mine to drink from yours.

It’s compassionate to offer a ‘bless you’ without fearing near death.

It’s natural to understand that my body is not a weapon, even if the world would convince you otherwise.

Zucchini is growing in bounty in the community garden. A woman pulls a tower over to see if it will grow up. “I didn’t know zucchini climbed”, I say.

“I don’t know if it does either, trial and error, that’s what life is all about!”

A simple yet profound truth.

My daughter is captivated by her plot and wants to help her ‘agua’.

The woman sniffles and sneezes while we’re around the broccoli. She’s not wearing a mask and I feel connected to her.

She starts to spray the leaves of her plants to keep the bugs off. “See how these leaves have holes in them, maybe this garlic spray will help, do you want to do it?”

She holds my daughters hand around the spray nozzle and squeezes. No ask of mama. No fear. Just naturally teaching a curious child as if it was 2019.

And I love her.

Maybe just for today, I’ve remembered how to live again.

Maybe just for today, I’ve remembered how to love.