At The Start of Corona: 2020

"Alone, condemned, deserted, 

as those who are about to die are

alone, there was a luxury in it, an

isolation full of sublimity; a

freedom which the attached can 

never know."

Virginia Woolf 

Today as I ride my bike, I realize how very odd it is that one can go to bed and wake up and the world has entirely changed around you to the point where it seems a virtual stranger. I am not entirely clueless.  I know that people have woken up to no home through fire or tornado or hurricane, that war devastates people and communities.  And having lost loved ones, I thought I had accepted change.  But alas, I remain me.  And like all humans, somehow I expect it will never set foot in my doorstep.  But it does. Of course, it does.

I used to wonder why, when I was a child, my mother told me stories of the Great Depression and of hardships she had lived through.  Since my imagination already tends to run wild, her stories influenced some deep seated fears within  because, well, mom's don't lie, do they?  And now here we are in the midst of what has been declared a pandemic. Perhaps she did it to strengthen me?   To prepare me for a life that she knew would have roses, but would also have thorns?  As always, I miss my husband most during troubling times, miss how he would hold me and assure me that everything would be fine.  What a home those arms were, a shelter from the storm.

Yet still, as I ride, I notice the beauty of the first daffodils, bravely facing the chill wind today, best petal forward.  I notice the deepening of the greenness around me, and I feel almost guilty that I still take pleasure in these sights. As I ride,  I make the decision that I will mostly do as is recommended and isolate myself.   The question is how thoroughly?  And how long can I stand it? The trick will be to find that medium spot that works for me.

I read about schools canceled, church services canceled, festivities shut down, sporting events canceled or postponed and I read those that pooh pooh these measures, but I think of the differences in the outcomes in St. Louis and Philadelphia is 1918 and realize that it is wise.  Death, you see, is never a do over. And it is certainly best to err on the side of caution.  Oh, I don't really think this virus will kill me. Again a human reaction.  It could, but while I am over 60 I am overall quite healthy. We never seem to think something will happen to us, and I am not different.

I think of a  conversation with a friend that I once thought was quite smart, and I suppose he is, but like many smart people he gets so caught up in little facts that he is unable to view the larger picture.  I think that part of this is his inability to ever admit he is wrong about anything.  Luckily for him, he is unmarried.  Or perhaps I am the one who is wrong.  I never claimed to be the smartest knife in the drawer.   But like all of us, I believe what I believe. 

 I get the theory that we need to flatten the curve, to prevent as best we can all of us getting it at the same time.  I certainly don't want to die or to lose lung function, and I want no part in being part of the reason that someone loses their mother or their father or another loved one.  I have enough on my conscience.

Briefly I pray for those doctors in Italy having to decide who will be given treatment and the possibility of life and who will be left to most likely die.  I remember how hard it was to make the decision to let me husband go despite knowing he would never walk or talk again.  I don't envy them their dreams when this thing ends.  I know all too well what it means to question decisions that you make.

And end it will.  Just as this bike ride will end.  I think how lucky I am that I do love to ride because it is something where there is generally no close contact.  I then smile a bit sadly thinking of how, at the end of a ride yesterday, rather than hugging as we normally do at the end of a ride, a friend and I bumped forearms in farewell. I will miss that touching until it is safe to hug in greeting and farewell again.  Perhaps I can discover new things about my world and myself as I spend more time alone.  I grin thinking of how I often thought that randoneurring can be, at times, a lonely place, but even a 1200 only takes 90 hours. Still, maybe it played a role in preparing for this moment.

And then I am home.  While I enjoyed the ride, the wind was demanding and chilly.  But my home is warm. I have books and food and the things I need to care for myself.  I don't have to decide who lives and who dies.  I just need to do my small part. I am blessed.