Passing Shadows: Coronavirus and Loneliness
The days are looking more like spring. The flowers more prevalent in the yards and trails I pass on runs. The sun is always out. The cool moist air that the rains bring has become arid and hot. As this new normal sets in I’m beginning to ease into this quiet space of work and idle time, of cautious reverie at the work I get to enjoy. But then a moment will come where the shock of loneliness interjects like the sound of a passing jet above. There is this odd feeling of fear mixed with joy. But that’s nothing new for me. It’s sort of how I live my life. I’m not sure, but I think I am okay with this life, though it is hard to feel so when I think of the privilege I have. But that privilege has always been there. That’s nothing new. In crises we just see it all much more clearly. Things, their joys and faults, are just clearly defined. Like solitude.
I once heard someone say that this generation is the loneliest generation ever. In this quiet, that notion becomes clear.
I can’t help but wonder what this social distancing must be doing to us. I’m enjoying the peace quarantine has brought, but I know that as the days grow sunnier with the quaint hope of spring, that there are many made unhappy by spring’s daily affirmations of life — the sun is out, there are flowers, birds migrating, and it all laughs at us. For some, it’s making life harder.
Some I know are stuck at home alone, enveloped in solitude. This distance from people makes them spiral down into a dark pool that I can’t fully comprehend but only know as a word: loneliness. Social distancing is taking a major toll on those with mental illnesses, and even those like myself who are more or less “stable.” To be such a communal animal, it is hard to physically be apart from the presence of others, to not be able to have the physical recognition of people surrounding you. It’s hard to accept that we are really together in all of this when you see and interact with no one. And the flowers grow.
Many of us feel alone, solitude exacerbating our neuroses brought on by that singular life which now many of us live in. And it’s important to remember. We are alone. But we are all alone. So in a way we are not alone, but unified in solitude. Sure it’s hard to feel a connection with someone that doesn’t stand in front of you, but it doesn’t make it untrue.
And, as I write this, I’m beginning to see more clearly that even I, while alone working on some fun projects, am not just staying at home, fulfilling my creative indulgences and learning how to make the best pour over coffee, but am suffering from a similar kind of loneliness. I look out and only see my shadow. But I am also staying at home in order to help save lives, to protect people I don’t even know. It’s easy to forget that we are not just protecting ourselves in this, but also protecting countless others who might get this disease and die because of it. That is why we’re alone, because we want to be there for each other.
Everything has radically altered. Silence pervades the landscapes of once busy cities where coyotes now wander. Yes, nothing is at all as it was. But we’re doing this, watching our shadows pass in spring, so we can come out of this someday in the coming months with solidarity, knowing at the very least that we did stay home, we did help in all the small ways we could.
