Pandemic Diary: No. Just no.

There's a kind of dreaming we're all doing together right now. It's important. Don't underestimate its power.

I want to talk to all the coachy teachers who are dropping emails right now urging us to, "Use this time productively. Make something out of this."

I want to tell them. No. Just no. I can hear, in your last email, your impulse to reach out, to help, to be of service in a chaos of confusion where those tricks we all learned in internet marketing school aren't working.

I can tell you're afraid. So am I. It's okay. This is all new and you're not accustomed to facing lemons that you cannot squeeze - with a combination of bright energy and intention - into lemonades.

But listen, your hyper-vigilance about my productivity (and creativity) makes me anxious.

It takes me out of the really important work that I'm already doing over here - following the sun from kitchen to living room, building nests of blankets and teacups and knitting projects, watching the irises poke their points up through the soil.

There's a kind of dreaming we're all doing together right now. It's important. Don't underestimate its power.

Also, I'm kinda busy with this project I've been doing since I came inside three weeks ago: sorting my books into categories, which, right now, feels like the most important thing I have ever done.

Creativity always rises, I want to tell them. It's just that right now, we're thinking about a bigger project than maximizing our profit or bundling our packages.

We're saving the world.

By staying home. By cooking and deep cleaning and watching Jimmy Fallon's daughters crawl over him while he tries to tell dumb jokes. As we watch him respond (Isn't he a remarkable dad?) we're learning how to improvise. Notice how he says 'yes' to everything - that's true improv. A skill we need right now.

Just look at the ingenious ways doctors and nurses are protecting themselves and how grocers and restaurants are keeping everyone fed.

Creativity is here. It's always here - and it always (when it's authentic) surprises us.

I want to tell them, Hey, look at this. You won't believe how beautiful.. over here, the way the sun is slanting through your own window.