Post-Pandemic Unpacking

I like to think of life as a journey with guideposts along the way that give us a chance to evaluate, take stock, and regroup before moving along. There are choices to be made before we continue—belongings to pack and unpack. What will we carry with us? 

If ever there was a time to take stock before moving forward, this is it. What will we carry with us? What will we leave behind?

In February 2020, as rumblings of the Corona virus were bantered about by the media, it still seemed a distant threat. Reports from China and Italy were bleak, but I thought, "It can't hurt us here!" (As though US Citizenship makes us immune.) It was foolish and vain. I was in a bubble and that bubble was about to burst. 

Leave it to Thich Nhat Hahn to remind me of reality. 

My good friend Margaret and I planned to attend a retreat at Hahn's meditation site, Magnolia Grove in Batesville, Mississippi. We were both recovering from traumatic losses. Spending four days eating amazingly delicious vegan food, sitting in meditation, and practicing mindfulness seemed just the thing to help us heal. So when an email arrived from Magnolia Grove cancelling the treat due to the pandemic threat, I was incredulous. I thought the good monks and nuns were just being conservative because people traveled from around the world to visit this monastery and they didn't want the liability. 

Foolhardy and a bit desperate for a getaway, Margaret and I kept our date. Instead of spending time at the monastery, sitting in noble silence, contemplating emptiness and meditating, we met in Oxford, stocked up on snacks and wine and held our own private respite. 

In the four days that followed, we watched as the world slowly folded up its doormat and made its own retreat. By the time I returned to Birmingham, the company I worked for had ceased all travel. A few days later, my colleagues in the office were asked to gather up their laptops and go home until further notice. 

Since I already worked remotely, this edict didn't effect me, but it did have an impact. Suddenly EVERYONE was working from home and a thing called "Zoom" became the primary means of communication. Previously, I could write undisturbed for hours on end. Now, my computer sounded like a pinball machine, chiming every few minutes with group Teams messages and endless streams of GIFs. I had to put on make-up and clothes (other than a bathrobe) to attend the video meetings that took the place of good ol' conference calls (remember those?!) 

And when I did venture out to get groceries, I could drive from one end of town to the other without being deterred by traffic. The world was much quieter. There was less airplane traffic and even the interstates were relatively still. The air was markedly clearer and cleaner. What did become congested was my beloved Vulcan Trail, where I walked almost daily. Once a deserted path where I could stroll alone at almost any time of day, was now the town's most popular pandemic activity. 

The hardest part was that we didn't know how long sheltering-in-place would last. There was no precedent for how to navigate a pandemic. As the months went by, the novelty wore off. People finally stopped stockpiling paper goods and ceased hoarding flour and yeast! (Really people, what DID you do with ALL that bread!?) 

And now, a little more than a year later, here we are —spit out into a post-pandemic world. 

As the post-global pandemic world opens up, it might be easy to forget what it was like when we were shut down —for better and for worse. 

A recent excursion to the Saturday morning farmer's market revealed that many people are no longer wearing masks. I assume that the availability of the vaccine has emboldened them. But it seems odd to simply throw down that little strip of cloth that, just a few days ago, was grasped like a binky. Life is returning to the way it was, but is that a good thing? 

Am I ready to leave the mask behind? 

I am looking forward to hugging people with abandon and not being afraid to shake a stranger's hand. I'm looking forward to being unmasked when I go into the grocery store or a restaurant. I'm looking forward to going to the movie theater again and traveling to Europe. But there are many practices that I hope I carry forward long after the threat of this virus has subsided. 

I hope I remember how fragile our eco-systems and economies are and that we are ALL interconnected. I want to remember the feeling I had in the first days of the shut-down as I realized that this disruption that would change the way we did business. There are still so many opportunities to correct unhealthy practices that we've embraced out of laziness. For example, do I really need to fly across country to meet in-person for business? Do I really need to jump in my car and drive to the mall because I'm bored? 

During the height of the pandemic, a greater awareness developed around how our actions impacted other people's health. As practices loosen, it's already hard to believe that Americans were as compliant as we were staying home, donning face masks, shutting down businesses, and curtailing unnecessary travel all because of an invisible (and often deadly) threat. 

There was also social upheaval that —hopefully —left us with a greater consciousness around the issues of race and inequity in our country. Will we remember that, and what we learned from those very dark days? I hope so. 

In many ways, there was an elevation of consciousness when the pandemic was still viewed as a major health crisis. But now that COVID is becoming mundane, will I leave my global concern behind? Will I set aside my appreciation for spending quality time at home with my family? Will I abandon my genuine concern about how my actions directly and indirectly affect other people? Or will I carry forward my gratitude for my health and our earth, and realization of how fragile humanity really is? As I prepare for the next leg of my journey, it's time to decide what to pack.