Is it really the first day of spring?

What a surreal and ominous time this is. I never thought the final month of my maternity leave would be defined by a global pandemic, widespread fear, and isolation. It is said that we are all products of our worldview; well, my worldview has done a complete 180 in the past week and, like many of us, I have had to adjust my thinking and my habits to face this new reality. Like most ethnocentric Americans, I watched what was happening in China and Italy with compassion and disbelief, but also resting comfortably inside a safety net of naivety and with the belief that “that would never happen here.” I worried more about flu, pneumonia, and RSV, especially with a newborn at home, and while I loosely followed the news about travel precautions, I certainly didn't modify any of my daily habits up until a week ago. Hand washing, sanitizing things we touch, and germ prevention were already part of our repertoire. Then a week ago today, as more articles flooded my social media pages and public health experts made their voices heard, it dawned on me that it absolutely is happening here, and we are only 11 days behind the terrifying state of quarantine that Italy faces. For the past week I have been coming to terms with the facts of COVID-19 and doing my part toward social distancing, canceling plans, protecting people around me, and following the almost constant news stories and government mandates in an attempt to flatten the curve and give our healthcare system a chance.

While this week has been inconvenient and anxiety-provoking, a certain freedom comes with literally canceling everything on the calendar. Appointments, nope. Meetings, canceled. Play dates and meetups and story times and classes, not happening. Fitness classes and spa bookings, closed. All the errands that seemed so important last week no longer matter. We are rarely given the opportunity to see what would happen if we just donʼt get around to those things on the calendar. And while itʼs frightening and unsettling, itʼs also liberating. Suddenly we become open to the possibility of each day (although in isolation).

Iʼm still trying to wrap my mind around social distancing. What this means for us. What this means for our communities. What this means for the economy, for businesses. What this means for our cultural identity. I took Ady to the park on one of our first days of social distancing, hoping the playground would be deserted, but explaining to her that she canʼt touch anyone if there were other kids there. Well, the minute we arrived she made two new best friends, and off they skipped holding hands. I cringed about the sanitizing we would have to do later, and watched closely for any signs of coughing, but I wasnʼt going to be “that parent” who discouraged kindness and playfulness because of these new rules. When we left, Ady said to me, “Those girls were so nice. And they werenʼt sick.” And they werenʼt, so all is good, and itʼs a good reminder about being good humans and kind friends in the midst of a scary pandemic. We have a sense of shared humanity, and while we may be more fearful of strangers now, we're all in this craziness together.

I have a lot of fear about what the next month will look like. I worry that my kids will get sick. I worry that our healthcare system won't be able to handle the number of new cases and critically ill patients we will see. I fear for my elderly family members and relatives. I fear not having child care when Iʼm scheduled to return to work. I donʼt know what to expect when I do return to work in an already busy critical care setting. I worry about teachers and students as schools are shut down indefinitely and as we all come to realize the profound impact of schools and libraries on the well-being of communities. And I fear for the business owners and employees of companies who won't be able to survive this. Restaurant owners, salon and spa employees, independent contractors, workers in the tourism industry, musicians, artists, dance teachers, fitness instructors, servers, estheticians, bartenders, coaches, and the never-ending list of individuals who contribute to a community's happiness and quality of life. I donʼt think anyone can predict the magnitude of the effects this virus will have on our economy and our identity in the long- term.

But in the midst of fear I also feel extremely grateful because I know I am one of the lucky ones. I am already scheduled to be off work for another 4 weeks, so I have the opportunity to keep my kids home from daycare. My husband is still able to work full-time and get paid. We have health insurance. We have food to feed our kids. We have a roof over our heads. We have books and puzzles and toys for learning. We can go outside in our neighborhood without endangering our lives. We have access to technology. We donʼt worry about being about to pay the water bill or our mortgage. While healthcare is going to be a scary industry for the next several weeks and months, we are fortunate to have job security. Many Americans cannot say the same.

On a more positive note, in the midst of social distancing and isolation, I have also been amazed by the efforts and creative ideas people have developed to stay connected and to bring services to people who need them. Every day this week (in our first week of "coronavirus home school") we've FaceTimed with family members, connected with my local moms' group for a Zoom workout, embarked upon a virtual safari at the Cincinnati Zoo, and practiced yoga with online videos. We watched live concerts on Facebook, subscribed to free learning modules, and had a virtual story time with local families. Parents in the community are sharing resources for everything from home school curriculums and free meal options for kids to mutual aid programs and which stores have baby wipes and toilet paper in stock. Itʼs humbling and inspiring to experience our shared humanity in times of crisis and it makes me believe that people are truly altruistic. There's a sense of understanding that we are only as strong as our weakest and most vulnerable members, so we all must reach out and lift each other up. And it gives me hope.

Today is the first day of spring, and apparently the earliest spring we've had in 124 years. (For a break from your regularly scheduled COVID-19 programming, see: Spring Starts Today All Over America, Which is Weird). It sure doesn't feel like spring, but the bulbs I planted last fall are starting to bloom, which gives me hope that our efforts in other avenues will pay off as well. Spring welcomes hope and offers an opportunity to reexamine our relationship with each other and with the earth. Spring reminds us that the earth is abundant and calls us to give gratitude. So here we are, in social distancing mode, but making the best of it. We bake and cook. We catch up on projects. We connect with people in creative ways. We establish some structure, but also some leniency. We let go. We make an effort to be present. We get outside. And we hope for the best.