Dear Wigleaf,

Last night I dreamt I ran into an old friend I haven't seen in ages. I told her I searched for her on the Internet but she must have changed her name. "Oh no," she said. "My name's the same." The dream, I think, is telling me something about the forms and limits of knowledge. And something about faith.

I'm having a tough time writing this postcard because I'm writing to the future and I don't know what the future holds. I never know what the future holds, but now I don't know within certain known bounds: I don't know what will happen with the pandemic, but I know what will happen will involve the pandemic. I'm struck by the many ways to know and not know, and how not knowing is a form of knowing and vice versa.

Today, my neighbor and I discussed whether my son's recurring stomach pains were caused by anxiety. "But he doesn't seem like an anxious person," she said. I told her about my shortness of breath while on summer break from college. My doctor ran tests then concluded I had anxiety. "But I don't feel anxious," I said. "It's summer." He said the body sometimes expresses anxiety once the threat has passed.

Best,
Jenny




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