Good evening, friends,

I am typing from the "Park House"…

Behind me is Prospect Park in Brooklyn. It's been a soft rainy day.

Last night I went on a midnight walk in the park. It was a mostly quiet trip even though I went along with some friends (who I am quarantining with for 14 days). It was our first time outside in over three days, and it felt like such a relief to walk in full stride.

We walked for a long time. The paths were dark and misty. We heard a waterfall and walked towards it. I could barely see the real thing. Later we saw a beautifully lit classical building on the other side of the water that I heard was dedicated to bird-watching. We finally walked to a small shelter that overlooked the large lake, and I watched a willow tree move slowly in the wind.

It all felt very mysterious. I couldn't help but feel a portal was being opened in the quietly glittering water... a portal from this world to the next. (Maybe that sounds too sci-fi, but that's how it felt.)

We walked for so long, and the world was in black and white, so near the end, I closed my eyes. I started to wonder what it would be like to go blind.

What would my first month be like? Maybe I would move home so that I would have some help and security from my parents in my transition. I would start to use a screenreader. I would learn braille. Maybe my short-term memory would increase, because I couldn't rely at glancing down at my notes or some other reference. Maybe I would still write, but I would speak aloud my letters. Editing audio would be harder. But I would be hopeful for tools designed for the blind that would help me.

I can't help but think this coronavirus crisis, as sad and disturbing as it is, is a sign, a test, or even a tool from nature.

As we are closed off from our typical "world," many of us are discovering our own rooms are worlds too.

Speaking of rooms, let’s talk about islands.

Last time I wrote, I talked about my dream social network… “Desert Island Lists.” Where everyone would simply list their top five songs, books, movies, etc. for if they were stranded on a desert island and had a limited supply of media to get them through the rest of their lives.

Here are my own top five desert island discs… or, these my top five songs that would give me life, but also peace, if I were stranded on a desert island… at least, in the year 2020:

• Yellow Magic Orchestra, " Perspective" (1983)
• Brian Eno's " Music for Airports" (1978)
• Laurie Spiegel, " East River Dawn" (1980)
• Claude Debussy, " Clair de Lune" (1905)
• Tatsuro Yamashita, " Christmas Eve" (1983)

These past couple weeks, I opened up my Pomera DM30, but I couldn’t type for very long. I easily became distracted.

Lately I decided to embrace the distraction. This email is windy, like a dream. I almost can’t help it, it’s my characteristic way of communicating. I’m a wanderer. Some people might say I lack focus, but I can't help but think that wandering is what life is about. It is truly a pleasure to go deep when it’s possible, but sometimes life is about being present and riding the waves.

I have so many ideas for small pieces I’d like to write. That said, I want to try writing to this list every week from here on out. The emails might be shorter, and who knows, they might not be very good. But things are changing very quickly. I want to be present and reflect on those things.

I am deeply appreciative to shared empathy during these times. All my business calls start with a grounding round of "how is everyone doing? is everyone feeling okay?" Maybe we can take this with us from here on out, even if we aren't in a pandemic. Maybe we can think of new modes of exchange and value, and what it means to give and receive.

Our world is shifting. My world is Park House, its rooms and its roof for workouts in the sun and walking in its nearby park but only at night. Maybe a portal opens up from this world to your world. Whatever is happening, I know we are leaving the old world behind.

Goodnight,
Laurel

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