Even as I write these words, some professor at some college is planning a course for the fall semester that will deal with the pandemic. Virtually every academic discipline will have some segment or unit that addresses what we have been (and still are) going through. Literature classes will have their own version of A Journal of a Plague Year. From Art to Zoology, scholars will draw upon the events of these days to develop retrospectives on how the pandemic came about, how it has been handled, who it’s affected, what it’s cost, the statistics of infection, hospitalizations, recoveries and deaths, social, racial and economic injustices, political dimensions, military strategic implications, and economic, psychological and cultural impacts. The list is seemingly endless.
Whatever the courses or programs the professionals develop to parse the significance of this almost unprecedented event, each of us will have our own story. Perhaps, if any of us lives to be old enough, our grandchildren or even great-grandchildren may someday ask, “What was it like back then?” How will we answer? That question occupies me very much these days as I find my longtime practice of daily journal writing has nearly ground to a stop. Quite simply, I do not know what to write now, especially as I imagine one of my descendants someday thumbing through the stack of leather-bound books I’ve been filling up since the early ’60s, noting all my adventures and impressions, and then coming to a blank for most of this year. Will she or he wonder why the hiatus?
In truth, the isolation imposed by the pandemic has meant many of us have been alone with our own thoughts this last year more than ever before. While Zoom and FaceTime can close the loneliness gap somewhat, each of those is a really a kind of planned encounter, an “appointment.” What has been missing is that range of unexpected stimulation that comes from simply being in the presence of other people, whether at the workplace, grocery shopping, dining, or just being out and about. Social distancing has truly made us socially distant and as a result, as David Brooks recently noted, our “extroversion muscles have atrophied while [our] introversion muscles are bulging.”
Early on in the pandemic, there were signs everywhere proclaiming, “Together, we’ll get through this.” We are getting through it. My hope is that now, if we can do it safely, getting vaccinated and wearing our masks as appropriate, we can get back together. Perhaps my journaling will pick up again.