If life had cooperated, I would have been bashing around New York City with my husband and son today. The NFHS marching band had plans to perform in Central Park, and we were going to see a Broadway show this evening. A little more than a week ago, however, Broadway went dark. The Metropolitan Museum closed down. All non-essential businesses in New York City have closed their doors. Our local schools have switched over to online learning, and many individuals are working remotely from home. If I was reading my last entry at Thanksgiving and skipped to this entry with no other context, I would be very confused. I would wonder what kind of war or pestilence had caused every-day-life to grind to a halt.
In November of 2019, a respiratory disease caused by a novel (new) coronavirus began spreading in Wuhan, China. Within four months, the virus has spread globally and infected almost 300,000 people. The world death toll has now surpassed 11,000. We are being told to shelter in place and avoid essential contact. Don't touch your face, and wash your hands constantly. Bars and restaurants have closed down or moved to take-out orders only. I have been watching earth cams in various places around the world. Times Square is desolate. Paris is sluggish.
As someone who has been a germ freak for the last decade or so, it's not so difficult for me to obsessively sanitize surfaces, avoid my face, and wash my hands before touching things. I'm extremely good at living in a bubble. I have perfected it. The difficulty comes in when I have a ten-year-old that laughs at my social distancing space (3 feet minimum) and insists on snuggles. My exasperation kicks in when my fifteen-year-old son eats without washing his hands. My husband sighs at me, which means that he's forcibly blowing air in my general direction. My thirteen-year-old shares some of my OCD tendencies and stops in her tracks when my eyes flick up, signaling that she has come close enough.
No one knows when this will end. The United States has been told practice social distancing for fifteen days in an attempt to "flatten the curve." Ultimately we will not change the total number of infected people, but we can hopefully spread infections out over a longer period of time and keep from overwhelming the strained healthcare system. Meanwhile, our healthcare staff are facing a protective equipment shortage, and they run the risk of being exposed while trying to care for others. People are stock-piling toilet paper, cleaning supplies, gloves, masks, and thermometers. Stores are also sold out of milk, bread, meat, rice, and other shelf-stable items, highlighting the supreme selfishness of humanity. Walking into stores depresses me, but then I see school systems continuing to provide meals for hungry children. I hear about stores re-stocking shelves and committing the first hour of business to our more vulnerable senior citizens. Quarantined individuals in Italy are making neighborhoods ring as they sing together from their balconies. This pandemic has brought out the best and worst in the human race.
The past week has been one of the longest weeks of my life. My co-worker and I sweep through our office at the end of every day and Lysol every touchable surface. It has quickly become a kind of ritual. Spraying surfaces in my home has become the last thing I do before going to bed at night. I might change aisles at the grocery store if there are too many people on my chosen aisle. I abruptly turn away when someone coughs in my space. I do not feel panicked. Hyper-vigilance is my natural state of being, and now everyone else knows what it feels like to live here. Welcome to my realm.
I'm documenting this moment because we are only just beginning. This event is being described as the current generation's September 11th moment. It's a period of time that will forever impact the way we live and think. I just hope that it makes us better people in the end.
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