This was in my photos from March 22, 2020. We were a full week into the initial lockdown.
At the time, we knew Coronavirus was scary and highly contagious. Very shortly, hospitals were overwhelmed, morgues were overflowing, and our national response to the threat was virtually non-existent. New York and New Jersey were the most dangerous places to live. We were terrified. My already anxious children were freaking out. School closed.
I was job hunting, and all the jobs I had applied for in the weeks prior to lockdown had very abruptly dried up. It would be another week or two before all fundraising in-person events would be cancelled. Nearly immediately, friends across the entire non-profit sector began to see their jobs disappear. People in retail jobs were either furloughed or laid off. The hospitality sector stopped – affecting millions and millions of people’s jobs. The economy tanked.
Remember when we thought quarantine would only last 3 to 4 weeks? Ha. We thought we would be back at school and the office in a month. I thought we’d have just enough toilet paper to make it twelve days as a family of five. That caused a great deal of anxiety and we began to ration TP use in our household. Thankfully, we never did run out.
Grocery shopping became like entering the Twilight Zone. No toilet paper, paper towels or Clorox wipes on the shelves for months. Meat shortages. People were getting into fights in the grocery store entry line – inadequate masking, getting too close to one another, cutting the long line to get into the store – brought the police as crowd control. (In Central NJ!)
I, of course, was attempting to turn lemons into lemonade. Isn’t that what we are supposed to do when faced with never-ending uncertainty, chaos and despair?
I began hosting weekly virtual happy hours. The attendees dwindled to just a core group almost immediately, as our work lives went entirely online and Zoom fatigue became a real thing. I began to follow politics and my sense of dread, anxiety, horror and anger dramatically increased. I started writing, at first to record this unprecedented moment in history and how my family met the challenge (or didn’t.) Then, as a means to vent my pent-up feelings of rage and helplessness. And then, finally, as a way to navigate it all and find hope, joy and meaning. I became more active on LinkedIn and Facebook, connecting with people brave enough to share their personal lives, experiences and efforts in the pandemic world. I got a new, better job. My far-flung family began regular check-ins to keep our hopes up, battle isolation and become closer friends.
Deep, soulful life evaluations led to way too much time in our own heads. Later, when small gatherings were allowed, getting outdoors with friends new and old, or just engaging with nature as often as possible, became a lifeline. Occasional sojourns to meet close friends for dinner al fresco were a treat. Praying our local stores and restaurants could eke out just enough of a living to stay in business. Watching as, one by one, businesses shut down, leaving empty storefronts in a once-bustling college town. If your main customers are taking classes at home, what is the point? My own kids struggling with finding their way in this weird reality.
Now, a full year plus a week later, the vaccine rollout holds the promise of a summer with friends. Of a fall semester in classrooms. Of retail and hospitality businesses coming back online. Of being able to travel again, to hug one another again, to have spontaneous meet-ups in public places again. To gather for the sake of gathering.
I lost count as this year went by – all the days melding into one another, punctuated only by the change of seasons and the decibel level of the news. It seems I only lost a week, which is remarkable when we consider the year it has been.
Happy Spring. May you soon be fully vaccinated and out having fun.
