It’s been well over a month since my husband came home to work, an absolutely challenging experience for a teacher with special education students. Over a month that I’ve had to explain to my aging mother that she can’t live life like she normally does because she’s at a much higher risk of catching COVID-19 and dying.

The days dragged on in slow motion, filled oddly with canceling appointments, trips, recreation. Doubt about the future. Insecurity. Fear.

I admit that I gave in, for a while, to emotional eating. I mostly stayed with foods that I normally eat, but I overate them. I gained a little bit of weight; thankfully, not much. But the weight wasn’t the issue; my mental attitude was entirely to blame. I felt myself starting to give in to the demons that plagued me years ago, deriving far too much comfort from a full stomach. After all, that’s a basic emotion, regardless of whether you’re a human, dog, or any other animal. We eat, we sleep. The world seems a little more manageable when we’re sated.

I came to the hard realization that I needed to clean up my act. When things do improve — and they will, even if we’re not exactly sure when — I want to be at my best. I want to be ready. Strong. Capable. And I am none of those things if I am not in control.

So, this week, I’ve been taking back that control. I’ve been getting my exercise in. I’ve been taking charge of what, how, when I choose to eat. Getting back in the groove is always a bit of a struggle, which is why it’s just plain easier to stay in control rather than work to regain it.

I’ve been setting goals. It’s an entire picture; setting achievable goals, whether they’re related to working, cleaning, self-care, are all important. Achieving them helps my mental health, which in turn reinforces my physical health, and my friends, there’s been no more important time than now to dedicate yourself to mental and physical health.

Sure, if you’ve been on social media, there are a ton of memes about eating and drinking our ways through the pandemic. I’ve also seen quite a few comments disparaging the idea of self-improvement through these tough times. While I get it — everyone has to find their own mojo in times like this — I also highly recommend giving time to not only grieve what we’ve lost, but to build ourselves. It’s time to admit that while I’ve been shaken by dealing with a changed world, I refuse to let it stir me into wallowing. I’ve been there. It’s not a place I wish to return.

Like most of you, we’ve been spending the last few weeks limiting our activities, canceling events, making the hard decisions in hopes that we’ll avert sickness in our loved ones and in ourselves.

And then there was Easter Sunday. We woke to rain; a couple inches, and while that’s hardly uncommon here, the ground has been saturated for months. It’s spring and the leaves are bursting forth on the trees; lots more leaves than a normal year because of the plentiful rain. After the rain, the day cleared off for a bit, and while I’ve been chomping at the bit for some sunshine, we knew that would cause issues. Daytime heat would amplify a storm system that was making its way rapidly across Arkansas.

At 8 pm, we kept up our howling appointment — in the face of a storm blowing in. Within just a few minutes, we lost electricity and spent the next slow-moving minutes listening to winds howl through the trees over our house. Strong winds dislodging branches, blowing our gas grill across our patio (with a full propane tank), knocking over heavy yard furniture. Thankfully, we had no real damage; only yard cleanup.

Others had it much worse; downed trees, snapped power poles, flattened homes, loss of life. Winds at 70 to 110 miles per hour mangled much in their paths, cutting a swath through south Arkansas, as well as much of the South. Tornadoes wreaked havoc in northern Louisiana, Mississippi, and points east. I’m thankful and grateful that wasn’t us, and grieve for those who must pick up the pieces, especially during these abnormal times.

The lasting effect of storms for us, though, is that we’ve been without electricity since last Easter Sunday night. We managed a borrowed generator a day later, but it’s not something we can run all the time, and it’s enough to keep us from losing all our stored food, especially since grocery shopping is now like running a Survivor challenge. And like many Southerners, we don’t just have a refrigerator; we have one in the kitchen, another in the garage, a small fridge hubby uses at work (and brought home), and a deep freezer. To lose all that stored food would have been rough. We moved everything out of the kitchen fridge and condensed things a bit, so we’re able to keep them running. Well, that, one solitary lamp in the middle of the dining room table, and a power strip for charging technology.

We’ve essentially been camping in our own house over the last few days. When I wake up, I get up and set water on the gas stove top to heat up for coffee as well as an indirect way to heat part of the house. Hubby walks Captain Camp Dog and fills/starts the generator. I juggle taking care of my mother’s needs throughout the day, as well as shifting/maintaining the house while hubby carries on with his remote teaching duties. Resources for getting online, where I work, are a bit thin, as is time, right now. But we’re getting by. Daytime, the windows let light in; nighttime is lit by candles and kerosene lanterns. (FYI, “Candles and Lanterns” is also the universal nickname for our electric company.)

I’ve had to adapt, yet again. I’ve been eating more than I normally would, but at least staying with foods that I normally eat and not using the challenges we’ve faced as a reason to decimate pretzels. (Luckily, there are none in the house. Pretzels are my weak point, y’all. Soft or hard, doesn’t matter.) I know I have gained weight, although I haven’t weighed over the past few days, choosing not to assault my brain with too much. I know what I face when the lights come on. The quarantine will still be there, I suspect, and I’m dedicated to getting back in control of both my eating and my physical activity.

While I long for a time when things are “normal”, whatever that new normal turns out to be, I have accepted that each weird thing that happens isn’t a permanent thing. It’s another reminder and lesson that choices are often simple: either deal with the challenge or succumb to it. It would do us no good to sit here and do nothing while waiting for the power to come back on; instead, we’ve changed our routines. We’ve accepted that for a bit, things have to change. And on my particular journey, I’ve accepted that there will always be fits and starts interspersed with the times of progress. In the long run, we are ahead of the game, and that’s a good place to be.

As for me, my weight fluctuations can be frustrating, but I am dedicated to following through. I am also intensely thankful for the skills and attitude that have carried us this far; while I am forced to live entirely in the moment and roll with the punches, I am confident that we’ll soon move on to better things.

I don’t know who came up with the idea of howling outside every night at 8 pm, but I started doing it a few days ago. Since I work from home, I don’t talk all that much, so the first couple of nights, I played my horn instead. I wanted something that would attract attention and make noise; my husband’s job was to just howl along. If you have no clue what I’m talking about, it’s just a way for those of us in the US to show a little solidarity and do something together — for just one minute — at 8 pm local time.

Mind you, when I’ve played my horn, I can’t hear if others are also howling because they’re at a distance. A couple of nights ago as we were sitting outside, we both just raised our voices; not only did some neighborhood dogs join in, but we heard neighbors a couple of blocks away start to howl. What an odd feeling it was; strangers, raising their voices along with us, all of us for our own reasons. But last night, no one howled with us and while I felt the connection the night before, I felt nearly foolish last night. And I have a Zoom meeting tonight at 8 — should I howl at the meeting? It’s an odd thing to do on a nightly basis, but there’s a quality to it that I really can’t explain.

It’s cathartic to let that howl out, and everyone has their own reasons to do it. Maybe you’ve lost someone important in your life, or fear that you will. Maybe you’re just frustrated because you’re an essential worker and these are trying times. Maybe you’re among the unemployed, rent is due, and you have no way to pay it. Maybe you’re just scared and need an outlet. Or maybe you do it for healthcare workers and others who have gone the extra mile and put their own lives on the line.

It doesn’t really matter if anyone else knows why we raise our voices in unison; for me, in the moment I heard my neighbors, it was the reminder that while we might be observing quarantine in our homes and living purposely small lives at the moment, the community still surrounds us and exists. We are not alone, and perhaps that’s what matters, most.

I’ve been doing a lot of things to make sure the pressure doesn’t build within me; my husband and I have taken walks every day. I’ve gardened, I’ve listened to the songs of birds, I’ve cleaned like crazy. My doorknobs and light switches have never been cleaner. I’ve made face masks. This has all been in addition to the normal bricks of my life, including work and family. But finding a connection with others in my community, even if they are nameless strangers blocks away, is a nice reminder that we’re all human and all in this together.

Last night, as we were taking a neighborhood stroll after dinner, my husband talked about something he did on Wednesday morning. I answered, “you mean, yesterday?”

Time has taken on a different quality over the last few weeks. March seemed like the longest decade ever. For the first few days after declaring COVID-19 a pandemic, just a few short weeks ago, I felt an overwhelming dread before going to sleep each night: what would the morning bring? I feared the news of each morning, and since then, I’ve found myself needing not just social distance, but mental distance. I’ve drawn away from the onslaught of unfiltered news, choosing instead to focus my attention.

In a world that seems to be changing by the moment, I’ve had to find my own bearings, my new normal. We all have. I’ve felt short-circuited, somewhat, not feeling like I’ve been able to look forward, but I’ve come to realize that’s wrong. I have to look forward.

Life goes on, regardless of this pandemic. Birds still build nests for their young in the trees outside my door. Flowers still bloom. Nature marches forward toward summer days, despite the events that seemingly drag time down. There is still beauty in this world worth embracing; spending moments appreciating the good is never time wasted.

As I listen to this morning’s gentle rainfall through the open window in my living room, I know without a doubt that there are vegetables I need to plant when the rain stops. The grass will still grow — and need mowing. Unfortunately, pollen will still relentlessly attack my sinuses. There’s still work to be done, domestic duties surely don’t do themselves, and seasonal tasks that remind me warm weather is just around the corner.

With all the bad news smacking me in the face each time I allow it in, I have to remember the good. Carrying good with me is as important a defense against the horrors of the day as protection against illness. As I unpack my spring clothing and wash it for coming warm weather, I do it with the faith that the seasons will continue to change. When I sit down to sew a face mask, I am grateful for the skills I learned as a child and how that skill now serves me in this moment.

I’m thankful, too, for the small things we’ve done recently that have made this time easier to bear. For the ability to connect with friends and family electronically. For the strength to rise to challenges that would have mentally sideswiped me years ago. Even the simple acts of cleaning a side bedroom that had succumbed to being used for storage, not knowing my teacher husband would end up needing the space for teaching his students from home.

Even though my weight loss seems to be on hold, I also have faith that I’ll keep rolling with the punches; the habits I’ve formed over recent years are keeping me from totally forsaking my efforts. I’ve seen a fair amount of discussion online saying that people shouldn’t be worried about such things right now, and perhaps that’s true to a point. For me, though, reminding myself of where I’ve been and continuing to embrace those habits in tough times isn’t just about what I choose to put in my mouth; it’s keeping the faith that sooner or later, the issues that face us today will be behind us, and perhaps some of the skills and changes we’ve used in these moments will improve our lives.

Let’s keep walking in our neighborhoods and greeting our neighbors even after the need for social distance has passed. Let’s keep contributing to the greater good, even after sewing masks at home is no longer necessary; we should be looking for those opportunities all the time. Let’s keep embracing the discipline of working from home and appreciating our immediate surroundings. There’s good to be had if we look for it, as well as the good of looking beyond this time. Today is mine, and I have the choice of making it matter.