The Worst Two Weeks
Since the start of the pandemic, and sheltering in place in NYC, a few friends have asked, “are you writing?” It’s not an unreasonable question. Many writers have felt moved to chronicle this extraordinary time. Indeed, folks of all persuasions are sharing their stories on social media and elsewhere.
Not me. Not really. In part, because I’ve defaulted to my tried and true strategy of avoidance through busyness (though in fairness to myself, I was knee deep in a marketing project when this whole thing hit). But mainly because I don’t feel adequate to the task. The thousands who’ve died, many isolated from loved ones, a health care system stretched to the brink, more than 20 million jobless claims in a month, children’s education waylaid indefinitely. And that’s just the US.
What insight or comfort can my writing offer?
I did eke out a journal entry this morning, reflecting on Cuomo’s sobering prediction about the peak of Covid-19 in NYC:
The start of the “worst two weeks” is a blazing, bright spring day, filled with birdsong; the sky a tender, endless blue, trees offering new leaves to the sun, to the world. The ordinariness is disorienting, an aspect of The Great Pause that confounds the healthy and yet makes this upheaval more bearable. Or less?
And yet, I’m aware that suffering and even death are unfolding only blocks away.
That’s my meager contribution. For now. We are far from through this and something worth sharing may come through yet.
Otherwise, I’m awed, inspired and tickled by the stories others have shared, including in conversations with family, friends, and even strangers—conversations which I ordinarily enjoy in too-small doses because I don’t have time (there’s the busy thing again), or think the other person doesn’t have time.
These stories range from success rates with at-home hair cutting, to the miraculous discovery of brown butter, to the cardinal my niece spotted in the sweet olive tree in the backyard. And of course sadness for the wide-spread suffering, and our separation from each other.
May the stories we share, great and small, sustain us through the worst two weeks and beyond.