A chorus of birds welcomes me to the morning.

The sun is smiling.

There’s a delicate fragrance permeating through the window, and I follow the perfume to the white blossoms on trees that stand along the empty street below.

Spring greets us, but we keep our distance. We carry the gaze of a longing lover, separated by an apparent invisible and insurmountable obstacle. Cue a Hans Zimmer crescendo, followed by the trailing notes of a somber cello. I’m feeling momentarily dramatic.

On the American side of the Atlantic Ocean, the moods have shifted dramatically, but that tension was already in the air by the time the World Health Organization (WHO) declared the COVID-19 virus a pandemic.

The number of cases jumped. The news coverage was an endless loop of doomsday predictions. It became real. Like, actually, really, real for many who dismissed as an issue somewhere else. And, now with the palpable urgency and anxiety saturating the air, for those who can, we retreat and stay inside, protecting ourselves, protecting others.

A few weeks ago, I started reading The Art of Gathering by Priya Parker. What timing to discuss about the whys and hows of how humans gather at a time we’re in. I’m only part way through, but it does give me something to start noodling around.

As more and more of the world moves inwards, how do we maintain and even foster new connections as social beings?

I’ve heard it said that during times of crisis, you can see a person’s true character. And, my heart is warmed that in these disorienting and unsettling times, humanity is coming together. 

It’s opening my meditation app to find that I could meditate alone, but also together with strangers/not yet friends via Headspace live sessions.

It’s being able to confess our worries, exchange virtual hugs, and share lame stories (that sounded funnier in my head) on video calls with friends and families across cities, states, and oceans.

It’s finding ways to do your part in staying home and flattening the curve, but also helping others (looking through a list from The Washington Post).

It’s uncovering a stack of half-used notebooks and picking up an old project – writing a haiku a day.

These uncertain times
cast shadows on worried hearts
searching for the light.

At the moment, the reality of our days right now are disorienting, unsettling, and frightening. And yet, I continue to carry hope and faith that we will weather the storm. It may be rough and it may take awhile, maybe even longer than we can imagine.

And yet. We keep on, keeping on. Because we should and because we must. Playing our part to keep the distance. Staying home, but staying connected. Supporting one another and those in the front lines. Keeping healthy. Finding balance. Adapting to the new normal. We’re in this together even if we’re apart.