Coronavirus Journal: Togetherness

T and J wait for the water to boil. She is teaching
him to make macaroni and cheese. He is going to learn
a lot of self-sufficiency in the coming weeks.

When President Trump was elected, J and I hosted a brunch for crestfallen friends the following Saturday. The idea was to affirm that though a terrible thing had happened -- and I will not apologize for that sense, nor do I think we were overreacting -- we still had each other, we still had community, we were still together.

Now a new crisis has arrived, and if the medical authorities are correct, the worst thing I could do to comfort my friends at this point would be to bring them all together.

 Isolation, it seems, is the only thing that can save us.

 Or most of us.

 Except: It won't.

Yes, it will help slow the spread of the virus -- and for that reason, we're obeying the "social distancing" requirements to the extent possible -- but it also creates two new problems: Isolation, and loss of livelihoods.

We are social creatures. I've seen videos of people in Italian neighborhoods standing on their balconies, entertaining each other with music. Here in Kansas, we don't live that close to our neighbors -- enough to separate ourselves and yet still be in that kind of face-to-face contact with each other -- but I suspect we'll find ways to fight through the isolation. For many of us, this might be the greatest-ever era to be quarantined: We can still talk to each other on the phone, or video chat, or simply snark at each other and post updates on social media platforms like Facebook and Twitter.

 I'm a bit more worried about all the people I know who work in a service economy. I know of one catering service here in town that just laid off its part-time staff because all its bookings for the next two months have dried up -- it's a beloved local business that will find it challenging to survive. My local bookstore has responded to events by offering to deliver books for free to customers -- they'll drop the package off outside your front door, let you know they've arrived, and walk away. Hopefully, some businesses will survive by using that kind of creativity.

We need each other, it turns out.

Even in an age of polarization and tech-driven isolation, we need human contact. And we need, frankly, human commerce. And those things are going to be tough to come by. I fear that the loss of these things might ultimately produce suffering and deaths that the virus alone can't accomplish.

There's a real tension between all of our human needs during this crisis, is what I'm saying.

That's on the large scale. On the small scale, my wife, my son and I are stuck in a small house together for the duration. We're doing to find it difficult to get away from each other. T, now 11 years old, had already spent increasing amounts of time behind a closed door, in his room.

It appears that trend will accelerate.

He announced today: "Sometimes kids need a break from parents." Right now, he's in his room.

I get it, son. I get it.

P.S. Speaking of togetherness, there will be no church services at most Lawrence congregations tomorrow. The pastor at Peace Mennonite Church today sent along a guide to worshiping from home. Seems like an important thing to preserve.

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