F4 SATURDAY, APRIL 4, 2020 LATIMES.COM/TRAVEL
S SOMEONE who writes
for a living, I have to say the funniest
meme I’ve seen during this shelter-in-
place era has included the line: “When
you find out your normal daily lifestyle is
called ‘quarantine.’ ” Sheltering in place
is what I do, especially when I’m working
on a script.
Not that I’m a hermit or an introvert.
Well, maybe I am an introvert. I mean,
being with people is not a problem. Leav-
ing my house is the problem. Once out,
I’m good and enjoy myself. Usually. A
meal with friends, going to the movies,
out for cocktails, cultural events. Work-
ing in a television writers room pre-co-
ronavirus was an invigorating creative
outlet. Plus, snacks and, of course, order-
ing in lunch.
When we were asked to shelter in place
last month, our working process easily
shifted to a virtual gathering. And our
network continues to cover home-deliv-
ery lunch costs.
Yes, every day I offer gratitude and
appreciation. Sheltering in place allows
me to be in my happy place, which is my
home, and to make a living, which is
great. Food delivery and online shop-
ping? Check. In-unit laundry? Check.
I’ve been able to ease into social distanc-
ing with barely a hiccup.
But something about sheltering in
place did change my daily routine and
perspective. Previously, I enjoyed my
intermittent hermit tendencies as hard-
won periods of rest and self-care. They
were respites from the constant activity
of meetings, traffic, social interactions,
crowds, vigilance, anxiety about lateness,
odd smells, excess sound.
Sheltering in place has given me a
heightened awareness of how rejuvenat-
ing it can be to savor what is close at hand
rather than grasp for outside distrac-
tions.
During the last few weeks, sheltering in
place has supported me in being able to
slow down and breathe. Now, I’m usually
in bed before midnight and wake early
without an alarm. Although I’m still
working, there’s no commute. I don’t
have to rush through breakfast or make a
coffee run on the dash to work. It’s a short
walk from the kitchen to the dining room
table. In the evening, I can shift from
work mode to personal time by calling
friends, watching a movie or spending
time in meditation.
It’s time to myself that I’m able to
explore fully. Years ago, a dear friend
shared with me how she managed to keep
mind, body and spirit flourishing when
her political activism led to prison and
solitary confinement. In that space, she
said, you are unavoidably confronted
with your mind. With yourself. During her
incarceration, she discovered meditation
and hatha yoga. She was able to survive
by recognizing the need to become
friends with her mind; learning how to be
friends with herself. There’s a rewarding
reckoning there.
Because of a full schedule and several
writing projects in development, my
meditation practice had become spo-
radic. It was often only five or 10 minutes
grabbed whenever I could. I had to get to
work. I had to meet a deadline. I had
other stories running through my mind
that needed a resolution, plot twist, fresh
dialogue. Now that I’m not rushing out of
the house I have extra time to relish
sheltering in place.
This led me to consider what exactly
those words meant. I frequently look up
definitions of ordinary words I think I
understand. Often the layers of meaning
are quite enlightening. The definition,
per Dictionary.com, of “shelter” in verb
form is: “to find a refuge.” Further, Mer-
riam-Webster defines “refuge” as “some-
thing to which one has recourse in diffi-
culty.”
During this crisis, the only thing to
which I have full “recourse in difficulty,”
where I can truly shelter in place, is the
inner space of my mind. Sheltered in that
place, I’m fortified by the stillness and
can carry forward to outer circumstances
calmer and with kindness and compas-
sion. To summarize another meme I
read, we stay at home not from fearbut
from love.Valerie C. Woods is a TV writer and
producer and has worked on several TV
series, including “Queen Sugar” on OWN.WHERE
I FOUND
MY TRUE
SHELTER
BY
VALERIE
C. WOODS
V ERY JOURNEY CHANGES YOUR LIFE.For my
family, it was the trip in the summer of 2005 that made the
difference. ¶ That’s when my wife, Mary Frances, and I flew
to China carrying two weeks’ worth of luggage and a suit-
case full of baby clothes, infant-care supplies and medi-
cines. We had three tickets for the return trip to LAX. ¶ We were there to adopt our
daughter. ¶ We hadn’t met her yet, but two months before we had received three
photographs from her orphanage in Chengdu and a one-page affirmation of health
from a local doctor. We named her Grace. ¶ We were far from alone on this trip. About
two dozen other couples from the U.S. were part of the same venture, organized
through the Chinese government. We started in Guangzhou, then moved on to
Chengdu. ¶ Why China? Because that country’s one-child law had put many of its
children in peril and because China’s international process seemed more predictable
than any other adoption path. ¶ In the days before the official hand-off, the organ-
izers kept us busy being tourists.
Through temples, parks and shopping
streets, we paid scant attention to
everything, imagining days ahead.
And then, 20 minutes before we par-
ents-to-be were to meet our children,
there was a knock on the door of our
room at the Holiday Inn Crowne Plaza.
It was the adoption team. Grim faces.
“There’s been a problem,” one of
them said.
Three children were sick, too infec-
tious to allow in a room with others.
Our daughter was one of them. And the
adoption team had an urgent question
for us.
“Have you had chickenpox?”
The question wiped our memories
blank. While most of the other parents
were joyfully meeting their children, we
retreated to call our mothers in Cali-
fornia and repeat the question.
We also wondered: Is this a delay or
something worse? Would they try to
send us home without Grace? Would
they suggest some kind of switch? We
weren’t having that.
What could we do? We worked the
phones and the web, satisfying our-
selves and the authorities that Mary
Frances and I each had chickenpox in
childhood. So when would we see
Grace?
Nobody knew. To keep us occupied
the adoption team packed us off to
more tourist attractions. A folk village.
An embroidery studio. And on a 100-
degree day, we found ourselves at Chi-
na’s foremost panda preserve, where
Mary Frances was invited to cradle a
young red panda the size of an infant.
She forced a smile, the saddest I’ve ever
seen.
We pestered authorities, dragged
translators to medical offices, waited
for our phones to ring and commiser-
ated with the two other couples in the
same situation.
One night as we sat in the hotel, a
tour bus rolled up, and out stepped
the rest of our adoption group back
from a day of play. Through a glass
window we watched the moms with
babes in arms, the dads brandishing
new strollers.
This is only temporary, we told our-
selves. Everything is only temporary.
But it still felt rotten.
On the second day, we met our girl.
At 13 months, she was 15 inches tall and
15 pounds, her face dotted with a yellow
paste to dry the red welts, her brow
furrowed in confusion. And then after
15 minutes, we had to say goodbye. She
wasn’t well enough, the authorities
said.
A second visit ended the same way.
On the third day, the team took us to
City Hall, and there was Grace in the
arms of Mrs. Chen, an orphanage foster
mother, who offered a quick lesson in
mixing formula (heavy on the sugar)and gently handed her over. We were a
family at last.
Once the postponed families were
united, the distracted tourism contin-
ued, but now happily, because we were
seeing the world through Grace’s wa-
tery eyes.
Some of it now seems like a halluci-
nation. The temple thick with incense
fumes. That traumatic first encounter
with ice cream.
Did we really, on a 105-degree day,
end up in a rural theme park with cock-
fighting, high-diving pigs and Cher on
the public address system? Yes, we
did.
The 15-inch child is now 5 feet
tall. She has a learner’s permit and a
bedroom full of trophies from Irish
dancing. Her school’s mascot is a
panda.
We have the ups and downs all fam-
ilies have. But we’ve been blessed (or
lucky, if you prefer). On a trip to China
in 2013, we got to show her Chengdu and
tell her how, in the wake of that misera-
ble three-day chicken-pox delay, a
family was born and the arc of three
lives bent immeasurably for the better.
All it took, we remind ourselves, was
a step into the unknown, a measure of
patience and resolve when things went
wrong, and a little faith. On our very
worst days, as on our very best, it’s
good to remember that everything is
temporary.Illustration for travel essay by Chris Reyn-
olds' journey to China to adopt his daugh-
ter, Grace.JOURNEY TO GRACE
BY CHRISTOPHER
REYNOLDS
Liana JegersFor The Times