This whole ride is not unlike a roller coaster. At the moment things are moving slowly, and one of the problems many of us are facing is boredom. We are inching ever so tediously to the zenith, chugging along over each bumpy rail. The office is closed. The church is closed. The stores are closed. The schools are closed. The moment of stomach churning terror, however, is not very far away if we can judge by what has gone on in China and Italy and England and elsewhere. It's coming, and there's no jumping off the car now. We are firmly buckled in. I have never really been a fan of coasters. I've never seen the point of putting one's life in danger for pure entertainment. You won't find me in line for hang-gliding, bungee jumping, or shooting the rapids either. This time we don't get to choose.
In spite of the never-ending reports on the news, I cannot imagine what it's going to be like when it really hits. I'm doing all the sensible things. I wash my hands thoroughly and often. I avoid going to the store unless it's absolutely necessary. I'd like to say I avoid touching my face, but that's so automatic I don't even know if I do or I don't. But there are people out there who are not being as "sensible" and they scare me. My octogenarian father-in-law is one of the most sociable people I know, and he does not seem to be taking this as seriously as I wish he would. He goes to the store just to "see what's going on" and to talk to complete strangers about how they are all dealing with the novelty of social distancing. He drives twice a week to play Scrabble with his friend. Is he going to pick up the bug that kills him or us? There's no way to know, but I wish he would knock it off.
We are not a nation of "loners" generally speaking. For those who do live alone, by choice or by chance, this separation has been a frightening eye opener. We can't go for "retail therapy" if all the stores are closed. We can't tell our news to the hair-dresser or the barber if they've been forced to shut their doors. We can't stop by the local pub and talk to the bartender when we are not allowed inside a restaurant or a bar until this is over. At least this is the age of the internet. Neither of my sons lives at home now, but I do get to see my elder son in San Franciso, attempting to grow a beard as he works from home, and to see my younger son pace like a caged tiger when we video-call his off campus house, a mere thirty minute drive away, but it might as well be on the dark side of the Moon.
To my comfort and relief there are people out there trying to talk us off the ledge with poetry and common sense and humor and faith. Much of it helps. Some of it makes me laugh. I love them all for trying. Because these are scary times. Don't throw your hands up in the air as we take the top and just scream. That won't help. Hold the crossbar for dear life, take a deep breath, and pray as though your life depended upon it.
In spite of the never-ending reports on the news, I cannot imagine what it's going to be like when it really hits. I'm doing all the sensible things. I wash my hands thoroughly and often. I avoid going to the store unless it's absolutely necessary. I'd like to say I avoid touching my face, but that's so automatic I don't even know if I do or I don't. But there are people out there who are not being as "sensible" and they scare me. My octogenarian father-in-law is one of the most sociable people I know, and he does not seem to be taking this as seriously as I wish he would. He goes to the store just to "see what's going on" and to talk to complete strangers about how they are all dealing with the novelty of social distancing. He drives twice a week to play Scrabble with his friend. Is he going to pick up the bug that kills him or us? There's no way to know, but I wish he would knock it off.
We are not a nation of "loners" generally speaking. For those who do live alone, by choice or by chance, this separation has been a frightening eye opener. We can't go for "retail therapy" if all the stores are closed. We can't tell our news to the hair-dresser or the barber if they've been forced to shut their doors. We can't stop by the local pub and talk to the bartender when we are not allowed inside a restaurant or a bar until this is over. At least this is the age of the internet. Neither of my sons lives at home now, but I do get to see my elder son in San Franciso, attempting to grow a beard as he works from home, and to see my younger son pace like a caged tiger when we video-call his off campus house, a mere thirty minute drive away, but it might as well be on the dark side of the Moon.
To my comfort and relief there are people out there trying to talk us off the ledge with poetry and common sense and humor and faith. Much of it helps. Some of it makes me laugh. I love them all for trying. Because these are scary times. Don't throw your hands up in the air as we take the top and just scream. That won't help. Hold the crossbar for dear life, take a deep breath, and pray as though your life depended upon it.
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