It’s a strange time and place, to say the least. The streets in my normally bustling neighborhood are empty; a thick silence hangs in the air.
It’s easy under such dire circumstances to think the worst thoughts: What if my parents, both in their 60s, get sick? Who of my friends might be among those in low-risk groups that nevertheless succumb? What if I do? Will the economy ever recover?
These are necessary thoughts, of course. We have to face the realities of this pandemic, as difficult as that may be, and stay informed through credible news sources.
I’ve found myself reconnecting with old friends, reading more and taking more time to do things I might normally rush through. After all, where do I have to be? Each day, I spend an hour or two playing ukulele or piano. It’s been incredibly therapeutic.
Not really. I’m free to leave my home, to take walks, to go to the store if I need to. But life as I knew it has largely stopped. I no longer go to work, see my friends in real life or get caught in the rush hour traffic. I simply exist.
None of us will be untouched by this pandemic. We will all either get sick or know someone who does, and many of us will know someone who dies from it. But in the meantime, we can still make things, alone or with our friends. As people, we can still improve.