Shelter in Place, San Francisco, California
Our garden’s lefthand path is the main thoroughfare to the back shed. But it’s longer than you'd expect because we made it an ’s’ to add interest and to maximize the room for plants; there’s always something to look forward to around the bend. The righthand path is narrower than the left and messy with calla lilies, shrub roses, and ferns that sometimes overshoot their boundaries. You can barely make it out. But the smaller path is a straight shot to the shed. It's how I take the hose for watering in the back.
I knew it was going to be hard when the world began an incremental return to business as usual because I knew it would be less clear what was the right next step for me. I knew the garden might feel less like a haven and more a cage when everybody else returned to a so-called normal life. What I didn’t expect was that this first soft-reopening would occur in the midst of a moral, civil and political crisis that has interrupted our obsession with the virus and rendered all of us less sure of what to do. Remember Memorial Day (ten days ago) and the people who rushed to the beach without their masks? My outrage seems so quaint now. This week's images have been of much bigger crowds, people who ignore the pandemic’ dangers in order to march, to sing, to hug, and to remind us what’s important in the world. They make standing less than six feel apart look almost normal again - patriotic, even. And it nearly feels like I could, I should go out there, too. I’ve almost forgotten why I’m here.
Yesterday two of my doctors called to let me know that they are back in business and ready to start up where we left off. Once again, there are decisions to make, appointments to schedule, risks to consider. I do not feel prepared. Do I tell them I’m not ready? Do I heed the experts’ warning that the virus will undoubtedly rebound? Or do I pretend that life will continue on a path toward normal, and I can begin to take more risks? Do I opt for the pain relief of surgery or continue to bite the bullet and stay out of the virus' reach? Do I hold on to the illusion that I’m safe as long as I stay here? Which decisions will make me safer, healthier, less anxious? I simply do not know and I don't feel ready to decide.
Ahhhhh, I miss the good old days, that is to say, some odd twelve weeks or so ago, when we knew what we were supposed to do and why we had to do it. The parameters were clear. There were no decisions necessary. We stayed in. All of us. We felt sure and brave. And at least a little safe.