I miss humans so much. I miss community activities. I miss crowds. There is a definite hole that can’t be filled with exercise, cookie dough, Zooming with others, or conversing with the same three people in my house (no offense, family). We humans just plain need a lot of other humans in our lives in order to feel normal. At least I do. I love solitude; I need solitude. But I’m also immediately energized when I’m around other people. People give me instant joy.
Going into town to watch and clap for all of the Orcas High seniors as they slowly drove down the street the other day was the closest I’ve been to experiencing community in the last three months, and it felt joyous. I felt giddy; filled in a way that I haven’t been for far too long. I even enjoyed my first “illegal” hug with a friend that evening, and it was beyond wonderful. I was almost in tears.
We’ve all been so good at stopping the virus spread here on the island, stopping events and staying distanced from one another. No school at school, no plays, no performances, no farmers market as we know it, no music bands at the Village Green, no shopping, no sports, no swimming lessons, no anything. I rarely even see walkers or kayakers when I’m out, which is a little unsettling. It’s like a beautiful yet barren nuclear fall-out town. (Barren is normal for the winter, but not in the summer.)
We’ve all been so good as a nation. I can’t believe head-strong, independent Americans were so obedient to the point that New York City was a ghost town.
We’ve been so good across the world. I can’t believe the barren photos that came out of cities around the globe.
As hard as it is to feel a void that can’t be filled without risking viral infection, it’s only logical that phased reopening will eventually lead to spread. It only makes sense that the people I personally choose to be closer with will be people who have been equally careful, not people who have decided to start traveling or living “normally,” as much as I’d like to live normally.
It’s odd to see the quick, fickle changes that are happening daily. Before, people were militant about not touching unsanitized things like grocery carts, not standing close to each other, not going in a store without a mask. Now, just because of a change in phase rules, strangers are very close at times, it’s optional to have clean hands, and masks aren’t worn unless a particular store or community mandates it. Thankfully, Orcas Island mandates it.
I don’t like the clogged-breathing feeling of wearing a mask. I don’t like how a mask blocking my mouth makes me uninterested in talking with people that I normally want to spend an hour chatting with. I don’t like not being able to see someone’s nonverbal facial nuances or wonder if they’re smiling at the end of a chat. I’m all about the nonverbals. I’m not a touchy-feely person but I can’t stand omitting touch and hugging from every interaction. I also don’t like being told what to do. I have a rebel spirit at times. But I’ve been careful, as most people have, because keeping the virus at bay demands it.
We are a tourist town and people are slowly coming. I personally love the normal tourist season. I love the reminder every summer that this place is so stunning that it’s the vacation choice of people from around the world. I love variety, culture, color, flavor, newness, laughter, activity, and change. If I can’t go somewhere new, the next best thing is for the world to come to me. In these times, I need to see people, even if I can’t get close to them.
But as the phases open up our activities, we can’t forget the basics we’ve learned in lockdown – keeping a little distance and taking simple precautions like wearing a mask when we know we can’t distance well. The virus doesn’t care about phases.
Our opening up gradually in phases has no bearing on our actual safety and, as I’m seeing, it can give people a sense of false security. Phased opening may keep us from going crazy, yes, but the virus will continue spreading, albeit slower in some communities that are more closed off, until it is stopped altogether. Phases mean nothing to a virus; it just needs a host.
I’ve been preparing my mind for the fall, when school normally starts. If kids get to go back to school, the second one of them gets the virus, I imagine schools will be shut down. Life from home will begin again, at the beginning of our six-month season of darkness and rain.
Until then, we’ve got the sunshine and warmer air on our side (at least every other day between the rain). We can be out and active and have Vitamin D production happening inside us. We can meet each other on the beach and go on “appropriately distanced” walks with each other. We can go out paddling together, naturally distanced by the lake and the sea, in the sparkling July days that are to come.
But after that, I don’t know what I’m going to feel like if we’re looking at the beginning of nine or ten months of school at home and knowing we’re all trapped inside. It’s not your average round of homeschooling.
Please be wise this summer. Please, let’s keep the virus at bay so that we have some chance of normalcy in the fall. Keep some distance. Wear a mask in small, enclosed places. If we don’t, we’ll get shut down again, and that will be exponentially harder than the first time around.
I love your stories, Edee! I can so relate to everything you write!. Thank you so much for sharing.