Parents, students, neighbors, the old, the young and all points along the age spectrum crave a return to a time before COVID-19, when life seemed to unfold predictably, though, maybe at times too predictably where one could count on what next week, season or year would bring and even somewhat plan accordingly in order to maxmize the odds of obtaining a more unique experience they could call their own.
Every one of us adapts to disruption in our own time and our own way, although broadly at least, with regards to the COVID-19 induced hole blown in our ordinary, predictable lives, the spectrum of adaptations could be considered thus:
Those who are following the rules, sheltering-in-place, masking up to go anywhere, waiting, hoping that all will return to normal once a vaccine is widely distributed and herd immunity is achieved.
Secondly, those who at each flattening of the curve, when the seeming “All Clear!” is sounded, rush back into whatever degree of normal is sanctioned by the authorities, until COVID-19, of late more often than not re-appears, possibly as a result of many trying to experience any and all possible freedom from the COVID-induced limits that have become a burden.
Thirdly, there are those that have given up on the old normal, believing it will not return and have instead toiled successfully in their grief, transcending into what are the rudiments of a new normal, building a sense of predictable on that perch while scanning the horizon of possible experiences in search of a meaningful life.
Yet, despite our differences, our commonality is the worry about ourselves or those we care about becoming sick. We’re collectively trying to lumber through a historical pandemic, the scope of which has few correlations in modern history, and although our strategies may differ, it is our collective struggle that defines our shared humanity.
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