40 is a liturgically significant number in the Christian tradition - Jesus was tempted for 40 days, the earth was flooded for 40 days, Moses and the Israelites roamed the wilderness for 40 YEARS. And yet, 40 days have come and gone without any pomp and circumstance in this Covid-19 reality. I feel a little bit like I did when Henry decided to incubate beyond his estimated due date during my first pregnancy. It's an unexpected let down. I'm not sure what I actually expected. In reality, it isn't as if this virus has its roots in my faith tradition, but numbers somehow stick in my head and imbed themselves in my sense of expectation whether I want them to or not. Little has changed since last week when we found ourselves at 33 days, but surpassing the 40 mark feels significant for some inexplicable reason.
This week I'm a bit more frustrated - we don't know what Step One after Shelter in Place will be - what will the limit of group size be? Where will we be able to visit? Interestingly, in GA a small number of businesses that had been told to shut down have now gotten the green light to open. It's a strange list that I don't fully understand: bowling alleys, tattoo parlours, gyms, hair salons and churches. It isn't a list I'd have created but here we are. Apparently, in-house dining will be returning to restaurants Monday. This adds to the surreal nature of this time and I find myself hanging in the tension of this newly declared permission to patronize places I'd taken for granted up until now (well, not really tattoo parlours, but that's just not my jam). There's a piece of me that clings to these openings as a sign of life, there's a larger piece of me that feels like this is to soon. There's part of me that thinks my hair really isn't all that bad and I'll go a little longer before I venture out in that capacity. I'm quite willing to let other people go ahead of me as the 'firsts'. It's strange though - I think it's responsibility and caution, but if I'm honest it's probably fear too.
When I think about how this sense of fear meshes with my faith, I remember that the bible admonishes us to 'fear not' literally hundreds of times (I've not counted myself), and I hearken back to a favourite children's book, Probity Jones and the Fear Not Angel. But if I'm being 100% honest, I am a little afraid - despite the logic, despite wearing my mask, despite the ample supply of hand sanitizer we've fallen into, despite washing my hands, despite doing my dead level best not to touch my face. I'm not as afraid for myself as I am for people I love - what if I'm that asymptomatic carrier who will pass along this virus to my parents and make them sick? This is such an odd time and I've never had this sense of angst about interfacing with people - I don't like it. I also don't completely like Zoom. Don't get me wrong - I love seeing the people with whom I'm speaking, but I don't like how fake it is/feels. I'm beginning to realize that the Jetsons weren't really people to envy!
The days are coming and going - time consumed by work and strategy and planning and e-learning and math and science and blogs and, and, and. Yet we're right here at home. There's something to be said for places having specific purpose and I find it organizing to have specific parts of life assigned to specific places. I wonder how these next months will play out; I refuse to think about the 2020 flu season in the time of the rona and I look forward to feeling bold enough to go out and about without feeling anxious about the residual effects of my standing beside another human (less than six feet away). I wonder when that anxious-less time will come - when I'll go about life without thinking about the viral rules of engagement. I wonder what stories my children will tell their children about these pandemic months and what lasting imprints this time will leave on all of us. And I'm learning that the fear/wonder dichotomy seems to be here to stay and my goal is to fall more on the side of wonder - it's far more fun and full of life.
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