to hug or not to hug - that is the question
Today, I had one of those awkward moments made more awkward by the protocols of the last year. I was saying hello to a friend, and I hesitated – do I go in for a hug?
The mask mandate has been mostly lifted, and many of us have been vaccinated, but I can’t remember where we stand on being six feet socially distanced. 24 months ago, I wouldn’t have thought twice about hugging a friend; now, there just seems to be more at stake, an additional layer, a respect for not only personal boundaries, but personal safety, to consider.
In the end, I hugged my friend, and it was fine, but it gave me pause.
And it goes beyond the hug. Yesterday, I was in a store, and the saleswoman said, “It’s okay, you don’t need to wear your mask,” to which I immediately responded with pride, “I have been vaccinated,” like I had just swum the English Channel or climbed Mount Everest. I dropped my mask down to my chin and let it sit there - happy to breathe freely, but not yet ready to dispose of it completely. In the next store, I wore my mask, as no guidance was offered.
On the squash court, there are also new rules. For months we have been playing from behind a face shield and a mask (which really makes us look more like surgeons than athletes). Now, if all four players have been vaccinated, we no longer need to wear our masks. One player commented, “It feels like I am driving without a seatbelt.” And it does.
In fact, lately, I feel like I am riding a bike for the first time, without training wheels. It’s as if the CDC has given me a push and I am wobbling, trying to find my balance.
Of course, I welcome the new COVID developments. The number of cases is down and hospitals are quiet. I have been looking forward to seeing smiles, reading lips, and hugging friends - strangers even. We are learning to live again, post-pandemic, but it feels a little like this soggy, wet Memorial Day weekend in New England - a reminder of the cold dark days of the winter behind us, but it’s not yet summer. And likewise, we are not yet completely free of the pandemic restrictions. We are in limbo; a transition season.
The rainy weekend gave me time to clean. I brought out my brightly colored summer clothes and put away my thicker winter ones. But as I looked out the window at the downpour and felt the chill, it made me wonder - is it really time to make the change? Maybe I need to ease slowly into my lighter wardrobe, holding onto a few sweaters and down vests. Likewise, maybe I need to ease slowly into this post-pandemic era and allow others to do the same.
Transitions can be challenging. Some of us are more than ready to get back to business as usual, while others are more reluctant. There is no “right” way; remember, we have never done this before.
In the last few weeks, I have gone to two parties. Spirits were high; soaring, really. There seemed to be a wonderful sense of gratitude for the things we had taken for granted pre pandemic: the ability to gather in large groups, connection, friendship, and coconut shrimp. Both parties ended in an all-out dance marathon - a little bit louder now - the release of months of a pent-up energy that hasn’t been seen since the Roaring Twenties (or so I am told). I was happy for my sore feet.
And yet, there is a part of me that was outraged by the Kentucky Derby - no masks and such a big crowd? Where are you, Fauci? I still like the safety of my little comfort zone, my pod, my home, where I have learned to make do from behind a screen (sometimes in my bathrobe well into the day, not dealing with I-95 traffic or even showering). It is so luxurious and sheltered, and I am not yet ready to give it all up.
It was a hard year, but hard has the ability to change us if we let it. And while we find ourselves in limbo, waiting out the summer in our heavy sweaters, I think about the things I will bring with me into the warm sun. There will be hugs - lots of them - and dancing and coconut shrimp. And gratitude for the things we went without, as well as a relentless appreciation for the frontline and essential workers, for their courage and care. We leaned on each other during the pandemic, and I hope we will continue to do so. We circled around family and neighbors and the most vulnerable parts of the population. We were patient and kind and understanding; forgiving even.
I will lead with my heart as I acclimate to this new world and embrace the humanity that we found in a dark time, and at some point, I am sure my head will catch up.