In her book The Alchemy of Us, materials scientist Ainissa Ramirez discusses “how humans and matter transformed one another.” The opening chapter is about time, perception of time, clocks, and relativity. Ramirez explains that during intense times of novel experiences--childhood, for instance--the brain stores huge amounts of sensory data, Words, scenes, actions, emotions all become embedded into our brains in vivid detail. As we get older, we store fewer sensory images because not so much is unfamiliar anymore. Monotony creates few lasting impressions and days drag on one after another in a predictable way.

And here, now, today, we all are dealing with a novel coronavirus, a new disease called COVID-19, and an unprecedented pandemic. We are standing six feet away from others, our faces are masked. We don’t gather together; we stay away from our beloved activities and places.

What is this novel monotony doing to us? I’m thinking about images I first saw more than fifty years ago in Sociology 101: of children playing with sticks which were guns, bats or dolls, depending on how they were held. Kids make do with what’s available and do what children do: imagine and play. We adults, also, look at what’s available and cope by using the blessings at hand to do what adults do--live and breathe and have our being.

The first three months of my pandemic were simultaneous with the final illness and death of my beloved John. Now these ongoing days of social distancing are my days of grieving the loss of a love. My mourning is more hidden than it might otherwise be, but friends, family, my church and 12-step  communities let me know every day--gently, kindly, lovingly--that I am not alone. Three generations of our extended family--siblings and cousins, children and grandchildren--gather weekly for our weekly Sunday Family Zoom--more interaction than we’ve had for years. Friends who are themselves widowed reach out to me--checking in and assuring me that my feelings of confusion, bewilderment, and exhaustion are “normal.”  Incredibly and wonderfully, I live where my neighbors are Saints from our church, and we exchange baked goods and stories from across the COVID chasm.

I am developing new rituals and routines and solidifying others. I attend to my morning devotions and journaling much more faithfully than in the past. I Zoom around the world for 12-Step meetings and have made good friends in Dallas and Vegas and dotted all across the country--folks whom I will travel to meet in person when the world is a safer, gentler place.  I am more efficient in my shopping. Our golden retriever BridgetAdams and I walk a couple of miles almost every day. I can continue my work coordinating care for people recovering from substance abuse because of video conferencing.

The novelty of the pandemic is long over and monotony has set in. But I can smile. As a wise woman said to me once, “Look around--there is always something to be grateful for.”

Christine H.
Peterborough NH, December 4, 2020