Sometimes I ride slow

Sometimes I ride slow.  And sometimes I ride slower.  The Canadian province that I live in just hit its 75% vaccination target as I write this.  Three quarters of eligible New Brunswickers aged over 12 have now received their first dose of the Covid vaccine.  Is this finally the beginning of the end?  A feeling akin to tearing off our masks the second we cross public doorways and step outside.  Uninhibited air flow.  The most basic and natural part of being alive, instantly feeling so very brand new.  A newborn’s very first breath all over again.  I am excited to see things reopen, for things to go back to how they were, to get on with our lives.  The expiration of this plague.  Less worry.  Less paranoia.  Less sickness.  Less death. Estranged family members finally able to reunite.  Society becoming social again.  But, if I’m completely honest, there is a part of me that can’t help but be sad as things begin to ramp up.  The pandemic simplicity.  Settled at home.  Nowhere to go.  Not much that we could do.  Back to basics.  Not thinking about travel since it wasn’t an option.  An uncomplicated existence of sorts in our little bubble.  It may be a mid-life age thing but this past year, working from home and with all the restrictions, I feel like my body has finally started to physically recover from a lifetime of rushing.  The rat race.  Caught up in society’s relentless brisk pace, I had never realized how existentially exhausted I had become.  This whole ordeal teaching me that living slower is simply what suits me best.  Life is short.  Why do we get caught up in racing through it?  Shouldn’t the whole point be to extend our time here?  To slow things down?  To prolong our days instead of sprinting through them?  Sometimes I ride slow.  And sometimes I ride slower.