When I first moved to Madison County, it seemed to my suburban self that the county moved on “slow time.” People spoke slowly and their movements were deliberate and purposeful. No one got in a hurry. I was more impatient. Over time, and with age, I’ve begun to learn the art of “slow time.” But, ironically, it’s the county that now moves at a faster pace. We’re busy all the time, with no time to visit or share a meal. There are times of the day when traffic on the bypass is unruly. We allow ourselves no time to appreciate the beauty in which we live.
Our imposed and necessary isolation has served to put all of us on “slow time.” We’re at home more and on the road less. Learning to entertain ourselves, we’re gardening more. Walking. Reading. Making music. Learning the nature of quiet. I’ve read that with people driving less, air pollution has dropped significantly worldwide. And absent the daily docking of cruise ships, Venice Bay has cleared and dolphins have returned to the canals. There are lessons here we should heed.
I mourn the loss of physical contact with people. We had a rash of visits just before the shut down and I wonder when we’ll be able to do it again. At the same time, while shut off from closeness, it seems that we’re having more conversations - in person at six feet, and by phone, and email, and zoom. And we’re talking with people we haven’t spoken to in years. It seems everyone feels the same urgency to be in touch, perhaps concerned it could be our last contact.
Now, three months in, I, like many of my friends, wonder when it will end. Will I ever hug again? Will I ever be able to go to a store without worry? At my advanced age, I ask if I’ll ever travel again. How will this change us? How has it changed us already?