Today begins our eighth week of personal self-isolation. The Michigan state mandated Stay Home orders came about a week later. Anyhow, it’s been two months or so of this “new reality,” a term I’ve begun to prefer over “new normal” because I don’t believe this is “normal” in any sustainable way.
We are seeing a decrease of COVID cases here in Michigan – it’s nowhere near contained, but the daily explosion of new cases and corresponding deaths is slowing down. It’s apparent that closing so many businesses, schools, and other public places has contributed the desired effect. The Governor has begun to ease some of the most stringent of restrictions – landscaping companies are now back to work, as evidenced by the barrage of mowers, saws, blowers, and weed whackers that descended on our back yard at 7:45 this morning. (In the rain, I might add.)
I’m grateful they’re out doing this work, keeping our community looking neat and nice. But. Oh. My. The noise – especially after eight weeks of almost preternatural quiet – sets my teeth on edge. I have retreated to the creative cave in the basement where I plan to stay until they’re gone.
Golf courses are now open too (including ours here in the community) so my leisurely walks down previously abandoned golf cart paths are over and done for the summer. Stores previously deemed “non-essential” are now allowed to open for curbside pickups.
It feels like this small movement forward has incited a sea change in people, like wild horses who see the corral gate open an inch so they immediately nose it open the rest of the way and bolt for freedom. This week there are more cars on the road, more people walking and talking in groups, more shopping and some hastily broached social gatherings in back yards. Most people are wearing masks in public enclosed places, and I think that contributes to an increased sense of security.
I admit, I find myself thinking: Maybe I could go to Target and walk around just for a few minutes. I’d really like to get some new spring t-shirts and maybe a new purse. My supply of writing notebooks is getting a low (there’s only three left!), I should pick up a few more of those while I’m there.
Wait a minute, I say, reining in those rebellious thoughts. Remember your decision? The one you made back on March 11? You decided to stay home, stay safe, because you have a husband who is particularly compromised and the last thing in the world you want to do is bring COVID home to him. And I have been faithful to that decision. In the past eight weeks I’ve been to the grocery store five times, picked up a curbside dinner order twice, and the post office once. That’s it. He hasn’t been out at all, other than occasional trips in the car for a ride with the dog, maybe a walk around our downtown park on a nice weather day.
It’s been easier to stay home knowing most everyone else was doing it too. Besides, where was there to go? Once things begin to open and people are out and about, it will be harder to stick with that decision. I’m as susceptible to FOMO as the next person. Plus I DO need a haircut. My dog REALLY needs a haircut. And there’s those spring t-shirts and notebooks to think about. As for my son and his family living 1300 miles away - well, who knows?
In one part of my brain I know it’s vital to get people back to work. In the other part I fret about causing a new spike in cases, setting back the progress we’ve made so far. And if I’m honest, deep in my heart I’m almost wistful about giving up this moment in time, a moment that hearkened back to the quiet, unpressured days of long gone eras. I suppose that’s the selfish heart of a highly sensitive introvert speaking. It was a relief in some ways to have NO pressure to do anything other than take care of our basic needs, spend time together, read, write, walk.
But this week also reminded me what a gift my idyllic little existence really is. I had news of a friend’s untimely death, just three weeks after she received a cancer diagnosis. Another friend is back in the hospital with complications from a bone marrow transplant; yet another in the same hospital with severe exacerbation of her bipolar disorder. And another has been in isolation with her young daughter who was on a ventilator with complications from respiratory disease. None of these are virus related conditions, and yet all are painful and disastrous in their own ways. A reminder that Life In General goes on apace, from day to day, and will continue to do so after this virus is vanquished.
How about you? Are you feeling the need to escape your shelter in place situation? Do you have fears about going back into the world too soon? What does the next phase of this new reality hold for you?