Everyday for the past week and a half I’ve watched my neighbor teaching his little son to ride his bike without training wheels. He runs frantically, awkwardly, huffing and puffing, behind him; grabbing onto his seat so tightly, as though his life depends on it (which if you have a child— you fully feel that this is the case).

This afternoon, I watched him again and he just couldn’t for the life of him keep up, the bike seat slipped through his fingers and off his son went. Maybe he knew it was the moment to let go or maybe life just took over and had him step aside; in that moment as his son flew steadily down the path we both started jumping up and down and cheering. It was so beautiful, and also in the same moment, profoundly bittersweet; his son was wearing a homemade mask…..and I could only see the joy and smile through his eyes.

Watching this seemed to capture the powerful paradox I believe many of us have been experiencing—the merging of beauty and also the reality of what I can only say, feels like a time of deep communal grief.

These moments, this time, these experiences are captured for me in this beautiful sculpture in Tulum. I want to keep opening my heart to all of it. What is being unearthed and excavated goes beyond the virus…. and it feels like the medicine of the heart will be the only thing to carry us through.