Don’t Take it Personally
The other morning while powerwalking along the trails near my home, I turned my attention from my favorite podcast to an older gentleman, walking his schnauzer, coming towards me. Looking down, he was ambling north; I was marching south. We had plenty of room to negotiate our separate ways. But, as I instinctively find myself doing these days, I slowed down, veered to the right, held my breath and smiled hello as I came close to running afoul of the requisite six-foot distance. Not unexpectedly, the man didn’t look up. He tacked left, jerked the leash closer to his chest and grunted a barely audible response of acknowledgment. That’s it. No smile. No “how are you?” No “nice morning.” Just the now-familiar mumble, clutch and reflexive fear of contagion. At least he didn’t step off the path toward the “safer” option of the street or retrieve an emergency face covering tethered around the neck, both common responses I’ve experienced during the days of COVID-19.
Don’t take it personally, I tell myself. It’s just the new normal. I’m a five-foot one, 90-pound woman. Never have I seen grown men (and women) so fearful of me. Scared of sharing my ether. Afraid of its potentially lethal contaminants. Anxious that my small puffs might waft toward their noses.
This change in behavior among my neighbors — and generally everyone I see these days — is completely understandable. I’m now visiting our local gym less frequently (and very early in the morning) for the very same reason. Fewer people, fewer cardio machines, one-way floor markings, bottles of sanitizer accessible for the reaching and a multitude of laminated signs requiring face coverings and physical distancing. Changes stemming from a deadly coronavirus that doesn’t seem remotely finished with infection. When there used to be a kind of camaraderie among gym goers —each of whom was in pursuit of a healthy body — today, healthy means: get in, get moving, get out.
With the promise of a vaccine months or years away, I wonder about the lasting impact of a society discouraging society. How can we share a smile when our mouths are concealed? How can we express love, friendship, joy, concern without touching? How can we relax around others and enjoy community when we’re supposed to stay home, stay alone, stay quiet?
Sure, technology and innovation have zoomed in to help us virtually adapt to this new normal. I’m grateful that I’m seeing my family more as a result of the pandemic but saddened that sharing a cup of coffee with colleagues or going out for drinks with friends are risky exploits, not to mention behaviors rife with reputational peril. The distance of our social networks is constantly on display.
How can you replace a smile?
For now, until we get a formidable and widely accepted vaccine, I will continue making my small puffs, mostly alone, but at least with smiling eyes.