"Lessons in life are repeated until they are learned." ~ Frank Sonnenberg
At the moment I live my life in lines.
This is not a code for something philosophically abstract or profound. I literally live my life in lines. Lines about six feet between me and the woman in brightly colored workout clothes; the man in Carhart jeans, hoodie and baseball cap; and the young mother with her rosy-cheeked toddler who sways up and down on a seat in the cart and sings a song that is unfamiliar yet unexpectedly happy.
The irony of living my life in lines is to discover that I am much more "socially accessible and receptive" than before this new normal called COVID-19, which is ugly, contagious, mentally exhausting, dark and has produced dark things. You dare to breathe on my masked face
Although there is a lot of "space" between me and the other people who stand on marked areas in the form of adhesive tape, I am much more receptive to "social smile" than to "social smile". social distancing ”, which shows that this whole, six feet apart, is really strange and a bit unnatural; Ironically, this social distancing prescribed by the pandemic has become a metaphorical connection that binds me to people I've never met before, also known as strangers, and creates a surprising, if bright, light at the end of this spiritually exhausting tunnel.
Here's why.
Each of us spends most of our day and night hours in our homes. And that's not a choice. It is because we have to. To protect us and others. Period. If you don't, the number of this virus will skyrocket, leading to extremely tragic results.
While we are all building closer relationships with our sisters, brothers, mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles and classmates (with well-established virtual classrooms) in our respective homes, we also feel surprising. A meaningful connection to strangers in Pharmacies and supermarkets, people we have never met and who live in the same parallel universe as we do, so that we can feel more like a global community than maybe ever before.
We can look at all these people we don't know at a cash register with a shopping cart full of groceries or a single roll of paper towel and feel like we're best friends. Amigos. Friends. Bro’s. Why? Because we all live the same life.
Maybe not exactly the same thing. But more immediately than not. And that triggered daily revelations for me and opened my eyes to feelings and thoughts that confused me – in a good way.
I was wondering how something that is so terrible, life-changing, traumatic, stressful and mentally exhausting has led me to an increased state of self-confidence, empathy, compassion, connection and appreciation. Appreciation for people and things that I would never have thought of before. Before that, Chernobyl lived, dystopian, in pajamas.
For example. I am the full-time supervisor for an adult daughter with special needs who is inherently exhausting and stressful. However, it took a full-blown pandemic that has never seen anything like this pandemic to change my view of self-pity on suffering, how blessed I am that I have company – someone to hang out with who remembers all around the clock on how fragile this universe is?
Did I concentrate on this positive shoot before this last full-time appearance in pajamas and lines? I think we know that the answer to this question is unfortunately no.
Then there is jealousy. Yup. The jealousy that I share with friends on Facebook B.P. (Before Pandemic) whose life always seemed much better than mine; the jealousy of a former colleague who was pompous yet incredibly accomplished and brought her grandchildren to Disney World when I dreamed of taking my own daughter there forever.
This jealousy of mine has always been a painful pill to swallow, and one I was always very ashamed of. But during those many weeks of sitting at my kitchen table, writing, playing words with friends, listening to my daughter rocking karaoke to Frozen 2 songs, and watching Keeping Up With the Kardashian marathons on the E-channel began I, triggering a poisonous emotion, never served any purpose other than making me feel flat, lame, and embarrassed.
Why? Because of this appreciation. The appreciation of being able to do all of the above activities comfortably from home and confirming how lucky I was to do so at a temperature of 98.6 while those at the front of this global nightmare with ventilators and masks address bottlenecks – literally risk your life while helping others, and may never get the chance to sit at your kitchen table or put on comfortable pajamas again.
Grim reality, I know. But a sobering one for all of us who are standing in line and waiting a little longer than we would like to buy a carton of milk and fresh bread.
Perhaps my most recent jump on the esteem car would have come about without this new normality of waiting for queues, self-quarantines and social distance. Who knows? I very much doubt it.
I think that all of these so-called epiphanies, which appear as shiny, golden exclamation marks that dance before my eyes, were the way of a higher power to shed an urgently needed light on the positive and our attention to the fact directing that we are all more alike than different, even if some of us have fancier cars, bigger houses, higher paying jobs, and three really cute dogs, you would give anything to be at your feet.
But all these people also have to be in line. Through the masking tape markings. And wait until it's your turn. Because we like it or not, we're all together. And let's face it. Is it that bad?
About Hilary Wolfson
Hilary Wolfson was a freelance writer for the New York Times and other publications that highlighted people in all areas of art. Hilary, a former special education teacher and English teacher, has devoted much of her life to advocacy for children and adults with special needs and their families, as their mid-adult daughter has significant special needs. Hilary is currently working on her first book, Bananas in Heaven, a memoir – not fruit.
See typing errors or inaccuracies? Please contact us so we can fix the problem!
