Walking through Fog

Several years ago, my husband and I decided to drive through the Blue Ridge Mountains on our way home from a trip to Tennessee. Heavy rains had left the mountains packed with fog. The scenic vista views I had hoped to capture on my camera were gone. In their place, ghostly barren trees disappeared in and out of the dense haze.

I asked my husband to pull over so I could enjoy the view. “What view?” he joked. I grabbed my camera and snapped photos of the strange images that I would have never seen on a clear fog-free day. They were actually very beautiful.

Years later, in 2022, I came down with COVID. It was a mild case, and the initial symptoms passed within a few days. But the fatigue lingered. Then six weeks into my recovery, I relapsed. This time, the fatigue clung to me like quilt soaked with water, and it brought a friend— a debilitating brain fog. This fog was far from beautiful.

How could I function this way? Would I be able to keep my job? Would I ever write again?

Weeks turned into months. At the time, I had no idea that my symptoms were considered long-COVID. Doctors were still trying to figure out what that meant. It could not have happened at a worse time. That year, in addition to starting a new job, I was also planning the release of my debut picture book, MOON TREE.

I had a long TO-DO list planned out for each week, and, until my relapse, I had stuck to the schedule diligently. But two months before my book hit the shelves, I couldn’t think or make decisions. Some days, I could barely get out of bed. I somehow held an online launch party and keep commitments for a half dozen blog interviews. But otherwise, my schedule fell apart. So did I.

I felt guilty and tried to push through the fog, but my efforts only made the symptoms worse. A friend reminded me that my health was more important than a book launch. I had to slow down—even stop—and take care of myself first. She assured me, the rest would follow, when the time was right.

Eventually, I quit fighting. My friend was right, but I felt defeated. I had no idea how long this horrible fog would last. How could I function this way? Would I be able to keep my job? Would I ever write again? I didn’t know. The answers were as unreachable as the horizon in that dense mountain fog we encountered. But they were there—just hidden.

A year passed before my symptoms finally began to dissipate. During that time, I relaxed the intense grip I had on my publishing dreams. I began to take time to enjoy simple things in life—a walk in the woods, dinner on the patio with my husband, and getting lost in a good book. Fog has a way of blocking out the magnificent vistas and bringing into focus things that are closest to us.

And my friend was right. My publishing journey was still there waiting for me when I was ready. MOON TREE was named a Junior Library Gold Selection and even won the Crystal Kite Award—no thanks to any effort of my own.

Sometimes we just need to let things go and enjoy the moment—even if it is packed with dense fog.

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Photo credits: Carl Jorgensen and Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash