At some point in March when this virus deemed that it had spread so far that it could be called a pandemic, I told the girls they should do video journals to remember the days of living in a pandemic. Here now in the middle of April, I realize that I need to write for myself and the girls can just have lots of regret when they're older because they didn't do what I said.
When the whole world started moving to stay-at-home orders, I felt such a strong sense of solidarity. I looked at all of us (literally all of us - okay, most of us) in our different areas of the world facing this beast together. Jimmy Fallon's wife filmed him hosting from home. John Krasinski started SGN in his home office. Everyone was joking about toilet paper, sweatpants, and cutting your own bangs. Italians were singing from their balconies. Wuhan folk were singing from their high-rises. Hospitals in NYC were being surrounded by patrol cars each evening with lights flashing and sirens going to show their love for the medical staff inside. I knew that staying at home looked differently in every part of the world and that being ordered to not leave your house was scary and soul-crushing for many people but I still felt like this virus had in a horrible way brought us all into each others lives. I really felt like we were #allinthistogether.
Then last night my heart started to unravel. It was a short few weeks of feeling like we're battling together and then to last night when I realized we could only keep that up for so long. And it's much shorter than my optimistic head had imagined. It just feels too quick for folks to start screaming and pounding on the walls of solidarity, demanding that the economy come before life. But I get it. I actually do. Our system of gaining and keeping wealth, healthcare for some, and just general lack of compassion for life is one where we come to places where we have no choice but to fend for our own. Solidarity can only take us so far as a hashtag.
Today has felt heavy. It feels like my heart has lost some of it's resilience.
I see my daughter thrilling in the accomplishment of riding her bike with no hands - just zooming down the road, the breeze in her face and her arms loosely at her sides. I have coffee in my perfectly light blue mug on the front lawn. Folks stop at a socially expected 6 feet distance from my lawn chair and say the normal sunny day phrases and the "How are you guys doing?" that means so much more these days. We banter back and forth knowing that the other one actually cares. I feel the solidarity and finish my coffee.
When the whole world started moving to stay-at-home orders, I felt such a strong sense of solidarity. I looked at all of us (literally all of us - okay, most of us) in our different areas of the world facing this beast together. Jimmy Fallon's wife filmed him hosting from home. John Krasinski started SGN in his home office. Everyone was joking about toilet paper, sweatpants, and cutting your own bangs. Italians were singing from their balconies. Wuhan folk were singing from their high-rises. Hospitals in NYC were being surrounded by patrol cars each evening with lights flashing and sirens going to show their love for the medical staff inside. I knew that staying at home looked differently in every part of the world and that being ordered to not leave your house was scary and soul-crushing for many people but I still felt like this virus had in a horrible way brought us all into each others lives. I really felt like we were #allinthistogether.
Then last night my heart started to unravel. It was a short few weeks of feeling like we're battling together and then to last night when I realized we could only keep that up for so long. And it's much shorter than my optimistic head had imagined. It just feels too quick for folks to start screaming and pounding on the walls of solidarity, demanding that the economy come before life. But I get it. I actually do. Our system of gaining and keeping wealth, healthcare for some, and just general lack of compassion for life is one where we come to places where we have no choice but to fend for our own. Solidarity can only take us so far as a hashtag.
Today has felt heavy. It feels like my heart has lost some of it's resilience.
I see my daughter thrilling in the accomplishment of riding her bike with no hands - just zooming down the road, the breeze in her face and her arms loosely at her sides. I have coffee in my perfectly light blue mug on the front lawn. Folks stop at a socially expected 6 feet distance from my lawn chair and say the normal sunny day phrases and the "How are you guys doing?" that means so much more these days. We banter back and forth knowing that the other one actually cares. I feel the solidarity and finish my coffee.