Voice going. Energy depleting. It happened one Monday afternoon, the end of January, 2020. Thinking back, there may have been some warning signs, but nothing that was significant at the time. If it were a month later, I would have thought it was the coronavirus. I would have taken my temperature. But I didn’t take my temperature. The most important thing during that week was working to make myself comfortable. Lying down a lot. Resting on the sofa. Drinking lots of fluids. Cancelling appointments. Reading magazines that had piled up. Even thinking back to the magazines brings a smile to my face. In some ways it was a bit luxurious. I also remember in more energetic moments purging and organizing home files. All things that I “normally” don’t get to. One of the most cogent moments was lying on the sofa “resting” and the most notable sensation was the act of breathing. It was easy. It was interesting. It was enjoyable to pay attention to. I felt no illness as I let the breath inform my consciousness. I stayed with my breath, cozying up to it, as if it were my best friend. And in those moments it was.