Coronavirus, and not knowing for sure what's next or right or reasonable in preparing for, preventing, and managing it, is our new shared, global, collective anxiety. COVID-19 has also become part of the greater preexisting web of things we worry about, while expanding and exposing our already tender underbellies.
Quarantines and social distancing and closed schools and businesses are conspiring to keep us apart for our own good. And yet, we need one another. Because underlying This Big Worry are all the other stressors and circumstances, short- and long-term, big and small, which existed before and many of which will still be around after Coronavirus has peaked and then waned.
Maybe it's Daylight Savings. Lack of sleep? Elections. Tragedy. There's menopause. Cancer diagnoses and treatments. College applications, acceptances, and rejections. Grades. Finances. The stock market. Depression. Parenting. Providing. Trying to make a doctor's appointment. Your child's behavior. Being a good __fill in the blank__. Death in your family. Fear of death in your family. Taxes. The news. Accidents. Social media. Anxiety. Report cards. SAT tests and scores. Being responsible; is this what it means to be responsible? GPA. Insurance. Deferred maintenance. That pit in your stomach. Your children. The Joneses. Marriage. Dating. Your appearance. Driving. Climate change. Being left out or feeling left out or FOMO. Natural disaster. Your to-do list. Your job? Mortgages, or rent. That thing you said. Also that thing you didn't say. Your carbon footprint. Panicking...or not panicking? Your parents' health. Missing your parents. Your relationship with alcohol. Someone else's relationship with alcohol. Your relationships. Do you need therapy? Therapy. Passwords. Travel. Real ID. The DMV. Copays. Aging. Being dead. Suicide. Living up. Being there. Being there when you can't be. Nutrition. Clean water. Regret. Wildfires. Preparedness. Helping others. Doing your part. Maintaining perspective. Being aware. Not overreacting. Putting your phone down. Laundry. Doing enough. Organic food. Charitable contributions. Forgetting. Animal rights. Violence. Retirement. Healthcare. Job performance. Balanced meals. Landfills. Recycling. Faith. Teenagers. The cost of oil. War. Feeling accepted. Feeling seen.
Vulnerabilities are normal and natural and every day; they accentuate our humanness and connect us with others. They're why we innovate and why we experiment and create; they're why we write novels and poetry and plays and songs and make music and paint and sculpt and reach out and act courageously and help and represent others. Sharing our vulnerabilities and connecting with others' fears and insecurities helps us feel less lonely.
Our vulnerabilities can also spotlight our least desirable tendencies; they're why we manipulate and hoard and judge and fear our neighbors and develop addictions and point fingers and lash out and isolate ourselves.
And we're all vulnerable right now in our new shared reality. Social media posts would suggest that we are asserting or seeking validation that our own approaches to current circumstances make the most, best sense. Despite our links to experts' advice and testimonials, most of us don't really know the actual best way forward. So we muddle through, collectively, along both parallel and intersecting paths.
At the height of his own fearfulness, Scaredy Squirrel, a Master Paranoiac and Overreactor, fell out of his seemingly safe tree sanctuary and serendipitously discovered he could fly.
But it's not a great time for us to venture forth into the Great Unknown. We are likely to be having to hunker down (or up in our trees) soon with our nut supply and a limited view.
If elbow bumps are the closest safe contact, hugging and helping become rare gifts.
And that's why it's more important than ever to poke our heads out of our trees, acknowledge one another from a safe distance, and share more than our excess toilet paper, as our other struggles appear to recede in significance in the face of this pandemic.
Because Coronavirus isn't our only reality. It's not our only vulnerability.
I see you, parenting a child with disabilities. I see you, cutting corners to make ends meet. I see you, in charge of making the tough calls in times like these. I see you, unable to visit elderly loved ones. I see you, worried about a family member's mental health. I see you, mourning the death of your parent(s). I see you, minimizing your own stress while maximizing your availability for others. I see you, wondering if you/he/she will graduate. I see you, worrying about test results. I see you, struggling to speak up. I see you, researching resources to help yourself or someone else. I see you, wondering if anyone notices.
I see you.
I see you, trying hard every day.
Acknowledging the journeys of others, unfolding before us even from a distance, might be what keeps us best connected in these unprecedented but also normal times.
I see you, searching for meaning. Whom can you help be and feel seen?
