The euphoria of the new year, the promise of a fresh start has faded. Omicron has done its rounds. Masks are second nature when we step out (if we do). We are pros at swabbing our noses and testing at home.

In the year three since the plague, the ‘before’ part feels nebulous, out of reach of my memory. In the past year, I engaged with groups in the lead up to the elections. I was energized, throwing my weight behind causes that moved me.

Today, the news of a Supreme Court judge planning to retire before the mid-terms should have me hopeful and, optimistic but all I feel is a cold apathy. There is a sense of fatalism about the world, about the people in power. News of a new COVID variant hardly ruffles me. I trudge on, weary, ready for the long haul.

My days are routine. I start the day cooking, talking to people in India. I send my kids off to school and work. I spend my evenings figuring out food for dinner. The tiny slivers of time before I go to bed are mine. I luxuriate in the study of the stars. I look out the window, I look at my charts and imagine the map I see on my screen painted on the canvas that is the sky. The ether is a living, breathing entity, influencing my thoughts and, actions.

I see myself doing this on repeat, ad nauseum until the end of this year, and the next. My Hellenistic course will be over in a month. The next set of classes start in tandem where I dip my toes in another branch of this ancient study.

Filling my mind with the stars has taken away the space that used to be reserved for anxiety, outrage and anger. All that is left is reserved for the everyday, commonplace act of living.

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