corona connection

Published in The Greenwich Sentinel on March 15, 2020

This morning, I woke up to the news that our two college-age students will be returning home for the remainder of the semester, that our local schools are closed, that sporting events and tournaments and extracurricular activities have been called off, and my email is a never-ending stream of notices of cancellations and postponements.

Yesterday, I was dreaming about some time in the sun with our daughter for spring break; today I am on the phone canceling travel plans. Yesterday, I was laughing at our grocery store list on which my husband had written twenty packages of chicken breasts; today, I am wondering if that is enough. Yesterday, I was buying a new sports bra and today the world seems closed for business. Yesterday, I knew how to live my life. Today, I feel oddly paralyzed. By the time you read this, chances are the world as we know it has morphed even more.

Have you ever tried to stand on a waterbed? The movement of the liquid shifts and ebbs and flows, and it’s hard to retain balance and stay standing. There is nothing to hold onto, nothing to catch your fall; you try to react to the movement or anticipate the next flow. It’s hard to sustain the energy needed to keep you upright. This is how I feel right now.

I am not one to overreact to world crises. In fact, nestled in our community, I usually feel fairly removed. News and pictures of disasters in faraway places are devastating and I feel a real sadness, maybe moved to act and help, but I also feel safe and secure at home.

The first time I remember feeling real fear was during 9/11. I watched on TV as the second tower fell. I listened to the otherwise silent skies as fighter planes protected our coast at night. The tragedy hit close to home and we were experiencing the loss and devastation first hand and wondering what the future held. There was a true sense of anxiety and uncertainty and fear of the unknown.

And yet, as devastating as it was on a micro- and macro-level, we learned to carry on, to protect, to care and to remember. We came out stronger on the other side.

My own understanding of coronavirus has developed slowly over time, like a photograph soaking in fluids and slowly coming into focus. At first, it was something happening elsewhere. And then I joined the camp that the media was on a feeding frenzy and that the virus was not as serious as the flu. But after reading the news pieces coming out of Italy with the common message, “Wake up America,” I woke up.

As our country shifts to prepare for and stop the virus, many of us are in mourning. College seniors are mourning the loss of their senior spring. Athletes are mourning the loss of their seasons, cut short. Friends are mourning the loss of close contact with others. Huggers are in mourning. Travelers are mourning the loss of safe and adventurous travel. And those of us who thrive on routine and predictability are in mourning.

As I sit and contemplate my own personal inconveniences and loss, I feel fairly selfish because I know that I am lucky. I am healthy. I have a home. I will miss watching college sports. I love my usual and sometimes boring daily routine. I love to connect with others, physically. Sometimes we need to lose the things we love, albeit temporarily, to remember just how much we love them. Maybe I have been taking a lot for granted.

Some have been far more inconvenienced than me. I was talking with a friend’s son the other day; he told me that he had been studying in Beijing earlier this year on an exchange program. The program was sent home but offered an alternate experience in Italy. Needless to say, that didn’t happen, and he is now working remotely at home with plans to return to his local school in April. That school may remain closed. Wow, who would have thought?

I worry about those who are at high risk. There are those living in nursing homes and prisons. There are those who depend on school not only for education but for food. There are so many businesses that depend on our patronage. And there are the healthcare workers on the front line and social service agencies working overtime to care for all of us.

Up until a few weeks ago, I had never heard of social distancing. I find it rather awkward. Some are committed to the new norm, an elbow or a foot tap, while others are comfortable reaching for a hand. My own feelings about this are changing daily but I do think it’s better to be safe than sorry, and I appreciate the mutual consideration, that I will keep you safe and you will keep me safe. Maybe that’s the new social framework in which we live.

Social distancing has also given us an odd sense of togetherness, similar to that which I felt after 9/11. So, while we no longer shake and kiss and hug, we care and protect and carry on and we ask the question, how can I help?

It may be difficult to find a silver lining when people’s lives are at stake and the future is unknown, the market is tumbling and there is real suffering, but the virus has given us an opportunity to connect; a friend termed it the Corona Connection.

In my house, the beds will be occupied. Any minute, a packed car full of the contents of two college rooms and two college boys will be pulling into my driveway. My daughter’s activities have been curtailed and it is questionable if she will return to school after her two-week break. Our unessential travel has been put on hold, which means that spring break might be happening in Riverside. My older son will be working remotely and we are hoping that will be from our house and not his fifth-floor walkup in NYC. And my normal life of activity and meetings and such has dwindled.

As the picture comes into focus, I see time together, which is so rare these days. I see time with our dogs, reading, writing and watching movies together. I see a peace and fullness that comes with our family intact. Ok, I see a few squabbles as our grown boys jockey for position on the couch as well as some overly competitive backgammon games, but I see connection. I can feel it and it feels right.

There is a thin veneer between safety and chaos, but as our world swings to stand up to this predator, it is important to recognize that we too have the ability to stand up. In fact, it is our responsibility to stand up, even on ground that feels more like a waterbed than terra firma, even as our own inconveniences are realized, even as our own personal losses are felt. Taking action may feel more like inaction as we look out from the windows of our houses; we may feel anxious and worry for those in greater danger, those who feel isolated and cut off, and we may dream of a time when we greet each other again with a good shake, a high five and a hug.

At times like these, we put politics and differences aside to care for each other. We do that well. We always have.