Like most Americans, there are quite a few things I’ve been guilty of taking for granted. The coronavirus is teaching me that. Things I didn’t appreciate enough or went through the motions on. Along with it, and as I find myself finishing up my third week of working from home (and what has already been a lifetime of social distancing,) I’ve also begun to realize how many things I miss. Things I can’t wait to do again once this whole coronavirus pandemic is over and a distant memory.
Usually, it’s the little things. Never the big ones. The small, seemingly-inconsequential stuff that I never used to give much thought to. Like getting my hair cut. My wife has banned me from that one (sorry Price’s Barber Shop!) My hair now looks like a cross between modern art and what happens to a marshmallow when you toss it in a fire. I think my follicles are actually some kind of imprisoned demon yearning to be free, and it takes all of my strength to contain it.
I try to slick it down, pressing and tucking and unspooling, but just when I think I have things under control and go about my business, I hear a loud snap like a pine tree cracking in half and elaborate curls spring out, making my head look like a K-9 agility course full of rings.
I miss knowing what day it is. For whatever reason, time just blurs together now. And it ticks off slower and slower. I look at April and think, “Wow! Thirty days? How are we ever going to get through this uncharted wilderness!?!” It seems like it will go on forever. I miss when Fridays were exciting, and Saturdays were relaxing. I even miss when Mondays were something to be dreaded. Now, I just go through a factory-line of days that spill into the next. With a little luck, I remember to shower and brush my teeth at the start of each one.
I never fully appreciated my office, or how there wasn’t constantly food around all hours of the day. But at home, thanks to our misplaced priorities and a slightly skewed view of what constitutes “emergency rations,” we are stocked up with donuts, frosted sugar cookies and miniature ice cream sandwiches. Pretty much exclusively those three things. My family appears to subscribe to this mantra: If the apocalypse is coming, then go down on a sugar high.
But this means a constant stream of treats whenever I want. And I pretty much want all the time.
I never fully appreciated NOT having to wash my hands all the time, as gross as that may seem, or being able to go walk my dog without having to take part in conversations that more or less went like this:
Neighbor: Hey Brian! You’ll never believe it, but I found toilet paper! Last pack and everything.
Me: Well, um, yeah. Good going there. That’s really a high water mark moment, isn’t it?
Neighbor: Tell me about it. I’m so proud of myself. I was like, “man, I’m not sure I can wrestle it away from this guy who’s twice my size,” but I just thought about how we were down to our last seven squares and – Woo-ee! – something primal took over.
Me: OK, then. So … I’m going to go now …
For that matter, I probably never appreciated neighbors enough. I miss my neighbors. I know they’re still out there. Around us. Fighting over toilet paper. But I don’t see them like I used to. I feel guilty when I walk up to talk, or how we all feel the need to keep our distance, as if we don’t totally trust where the other one has been. It’s what we’re supposed to do, I get it. But it doesn’t make it feel any better. These people we’ve known for so long, and come to trust.
I miss shaking hands and pats on the back, and even those guys who would come up and punch me in the arm because that was their way of bonding.
When people are sick and dying, I know it’s ridiculous, even selfish, to think about all of this. For me, though, it’s more a reminder of how much I took for granted, and what I really need to appreciate one day – hopefully soon – when this is all just a distant memory.