It was a year ago — good old Friday the thirteenth — when everything shut down for me.

We had already made the decision the day before to shut down my schools in Atlanta, but somehow I thought Maine had a little more time. However, that Friday was my last morning at my favorite coffee shop. They were wearing latex gloves to collect the cash. The pandemic anxiety had arrived — and the virus, too, was already circulating. Life as we knew it was over, and it still hasn’t returned.

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As the oldest of four children, there were two rare luxuries that I did not take for granted growing up: dining out and flying in planes.

Consequently, as an adult, I still tend to relish an opportunity for either of these experiences, even though they are often more quotidian than magical. But now that both restaurant meals and air travel have been eliminated from my life during the pandemic, I find myself dreaming of them just as I did as a child.

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Back when I worked six/seven days a week and had no life and no hobbies, I didn’t understand the benefit of taking time off.

I saw only what it would cost me; I didn’t know that, in addition to the obvious pleasures of rest and relaxation, time away would actually make me more effective in my work.

Now, I marvel at how taking an afternoon or a day or a week to completely disconnect from work will result in a surge in productivity, creativity, and satisfaction when I return.

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I had an agenda for the summer.

Of course, I had already given up on my usual summer agenda of traveling, visiting family, and having a lighter workload than usual due to school being out. So, my new agenda accounted for the coronavirus restrictions and complications and mandated a season of creative work. I planned for a high output, taking advantage of plenty of free time.

That didn’t happen. Even though I have the time, taking care of immediate concerns consumes most of my energy, leaving little left over for more work.

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