Well, as often happens, it takes a while for the dust to settle on a new idea or project to really find out what you were thinking in the first place. I was going to have a spin off blog about growing older that would be separate from my longstanding blog Musings. I realized a couple of things. One, it is as difficult to multi-blog as it is to truly multitask. We fool ourselves into thinking that we can do it, but in reality we only find ourselves ping ponging back and forth between competing ideas and projects, half doing both, completing little and feeling frustrated. I found that as I was growing older I was simply musing, and in the time I was musing I had indeed grown older. The solution? Merge the blogs. Done. If you missed any of the first dozen and a half posts on Growing Older, they are here to be found and enjoyed. Now, back to musing, the thing that I like to do and most likely do best in this space and format anyway.
Coronavirus has changed my life. Has it changed yours too? It seems like years ago since the first inklings of this unfolding tragedy hit out consciousness, but it’s only been weeks. In just weeks my home life, work life, travel, recreational time, and professional view of the world has changed. It’s here. I don’t like it.
Specifically, what do I not like about this virus-filled world? I do not like the fact that I now am sitting at my desk, isolated, cut off from my patients, all of whom I now communicate with by cellphone or video. I do not like the fact that my wife is unnerved, unsure, and at loose ends, not knowing if she will fly, where she will fly, with whom she will fly, and if she has a better then even chance of contracting this COVID-19 and then bringing it back home. I also worry that even though I see everyone artificially and sterilely now, that I may have had a chance or three to pick up that same virus in the weeks before we even knew it was stalking us. I do not like the fact that I spent many hours thinking about and working on a presentation for a conference that is now canceled. I do not like the fact that my wife and I were planning to go to Italy in April, the first time I would have been back to that country since I lived there as a seventh grader in 1970, and now that dream is many months if not years down the road. I do not like the fact that I cannot joyfully get on a plane and fly anywhere I want to seek adventure or excitement, because each trip is possibly contaminated and scary and potentially disease-ridden. I do not like the fact that I had to physically rearrange my office to better telepsych and type and talk and Skype and document. A little thing, but enough to make me not know exactly where to put my hands and at what distance to sit from each screen and how to best situate myself to hear and see and type and complete other tasks at hand. Just enough change to make me strain at the viral tether that now is attached to all of us, invisible and inevitable.
Which part of all this makes me the most cranky, feel the most sad, the most sorry for myself? None of it.
What hurts the most about this kind of game changing, world shrinking, mind blowing natural event is how it impacts the ones I love and care about. I already mentioned my wife. What hurts her hurts me and vice versa. Her confusion and questions are mine, my physical and emotional exhaustion are hers. We support each other the best we can and keep moving forward.
Our mothers, both in their eighties, should not have to worry about this. They are the young old, at least in our eyes, energetic and sharp and happy and smiling. They enjoy Silver Sneakers, volunteering at the hospital, spending time on the back deck, tending to flowers, watching the myriad birds they attract with feeders, visiting with neighbors, seeing pictures of great-grandchildren on FaceBook and living the life that the old should be entitled to without question. They should not have to worry about a cough, some congestion, a fever.
My children. No, they are not young anymore, I know that, strange as it still seems to me. They are courageous and daring and outspoken and informed and energetic as they attack this new problem that has decided to pop up in their lives at this particular time. They must handle relationships and jobs and raising children and sending spouses off to work. They have this newfangled internet and FaceBook and Twitter and Instagram stories and all the ways they can connect to friends and family, and they wield them like flaming swords, daring this little be-crowned viral particle to deconstruct their worlds. I marvel at their energy, their drive, their curiosity, their willingness to challenge norms and speak out and change their world. Virus be damned.
Yes, all the inconveniences are just that. They are not insurmountable. They may be fleeting. They are adaptations, mild kinks in the otherwise relatively smooth rope of time that we all cling to and slide along until we reach the frayed end that allows us to quietly slip off into history.
The big things, the important things, are how this little virus is changing our social fabric, our emotional, physical and financial security, our ability to reach out and touch each other, to comfort each other, to hold each other up. It is painful to watch, to experience, to feel. It is isolating. It is depressing. It feels almost insurmountable.
But it is not forever. The wonderful line in one of the shows that my oldest daughter starred in last season in Chattanooga, Avenue Q, says it best.
It’s only for now.
Wash your hands. Pick up the phone. Call someone. Wash your hands. Telecommute if you can. Cook at home. Have wonderful conversations. Wash your hands. Do it, because you must. We must all pitch in, if not for ourselves, then for our mothers and fathers and children and grandchildren,
It’s only for now.