The Mister and I frequently find ourselves going against the grain, swimming against the tide. We’re there again with the question of continued quarantine vs. a safe return to life as we knew it.
As states continue to open up for businesses and services, our world is following. Lapping it up. Enjoying life. We, on the other hand, find ourselves hesitant to take advantage of the opportunities. Rather, we’ve decided to blame our age and my cast to continue our self-imposed quarantine.
It’s not always easy to say no to those things that others are eagerly embracing. There’s a pressure to get on with it, to be willing to take a risk, to get back in the saddle. To get a life, for goodness sakes.
Our friend and Island Packet editor, David Lauderdale, wrote a thoughtful virus-related essay last week. In it, he said: ”I’ve learned this much about a pandemic: it’s less of a national issue than a personal one.”
Reading and digesting those words has made it easier for us to re-inforce our own decisions. Now there’s no need to explain. No need to talk of age and casts. Or even Michelangelo*. It’s a personal decision and that’s that.
So, call us wimps, finks, scardy-cats and cowards. We’ve been called worse. We’ll get back out there. Just not this right this minute.
*Aside/explanation: One side effect of being inside for so long is that stuff pops up in my mind that I don’t go looking for. One is a line from T. S. Eliot’s “Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” To quote: ”In the room/ The women come and go/ Talking of Michelangelo.”
I’ve always liked that phrase even though I don’t fully understand it. But Michelangelo showed up as I was writing this, uninvited, though he was. It seemed like a good idea to acknowledge him. So I did.