Center

Homeostasis: The tendency toward a relatively stable equilibrium between interdependent elements, especially as maintained by physiological processes.

We all learned this definition in school years ago and it applies to everything. It applies to our bodies, which seek a state of wellness and are designed with tools to heal and repair as well as the ability to adjust to alterations in our climate, our food and our sleep. It applies to nature, evidenced by the adaptations and evolution of plants and animals; of humans. It applies to our planet as a whole and most defiantly, it applies to our societies; our individual and collective psyche as we adapt to danger or tragedy.

I have been recently seeking homeostasis with regard to our new normal. I find myself moving left and right as if bumping into invisible walls that propel me back in the other direction. One month ago I was still going out to do appraisal inspections. It was beginning to feel unsafe, but my profession is deemed “essential” to keep the banks solvent and the real estate economy alive. My first awkward moment was when an agent greeted me in the driveway of a home to let me know that the homeowner was babysitting her grandchildren, one of whom was sick with a fever and a cough. “Do you still want to go inside?” I had been straddling a fine line until that point; the one drawn between cautious and paranoid. I stepped over the line and answered, “No.” We can reschedule after the home has been sanitized and the child has been gone three…is it three, or four days that the virus lives on surfaces?

Fast forward 4 weeks. Pondering the decision one month ago whether or not to steer clear of a sick toddler seems incomprehensible now. Mandate after mandate has been dolloped upon us as we navigate the uncharted waters of social distancing. Non-essential businesses have been closed and essential businesses have been altered into models that have never even been in anyone’s imagination. Curbside pick-up happens everywhere: the feed store picking up baby chicks; the hardware store that brings its wares to the curb after a phone call with payment; liquor stores, health food stores and small grocery stores all joined the restaurants in a new way to do

business. “Contactless pick up” is now a phrase we use daily. Virtual walk-throughs on real estate, video conference calls for corporations, and Zoom classrooms that gather our children with their teachers are all commonplace.

A few days ago, Cadence and I hopped into the car to run out for curbside pick-up of wine and dinner. Before Covid19, Brad would often say, “I’ll buy if you fly.” No one ever wanted to drive out to get the food. Now we are eager to fly our coop; for a reason to change the scenery. We pull up to Frank’s package store where a nice young man comes out to place our wine in the back seat from the appropriate distance. We pass a blinking sign on a quiet street that reads “Stay Safe, Stay Home” and we see the usual dog walkers on the green, identifiable only by the species at the end of the leash as their faces are masked.

We drive to Madison to Friends and Company and pull into the parking lot. I tuck my car behind the one waiting beside the table and tent. An older gentleman steps out of a parked car from across the lot with mask and gloves and stands at a distance. The waitress brings bags of food to the trunk in front of me and waves, letting the gentleman know she will return with his food. She looks at me and we exchange the hand signal for “call me” and smile. I call to give her our name and in minutes, her masked face is in my trunk placing our bag of food before she runs back inside waving goodbye.

On the drive home, I notice that there are almost no cars on Route 1 at 6:00 in the evening. It feels unnecessary to be sitting at a red light, as we are clearly moving through a deserted town.  We turn onto Goose Lane and I joke that we are taking the back roads home because of the traffic. Rolling under the highway underpass, we see that there are almost no cars on the highway. “It’s so apocalypsey,” I tell Cadence. She nods and reminds me that ‘apocalypsey’  is not a word; we agree that it should be and we will continue to use it.

After dinner we watch Modern Family as the show wraps up its eleven year run with a final closing episode. We are unaccustomed to commercials as we have become ‘streamers’ and I am absolutely baffled by the content. No matter the product or service, every single commercial contains an element of social distancing and a parting message that includes “Stay Safe.”  “Stay Safe” has replaced “Have a good day” in our handshake-less, socially distant encounters. It is baffling that we have arrived here; that we have become this new culture in a few short weeks. I feel eerily that we are like sheep heading for slaughter; running full sprint into a place that seems like a scripted horror movie.

Last night I chatted about our ‘new normal’ adjustments with my brother-in-law Chet. We compared stories between Connecticut and Florida of adaptation from shopping to business; from lifestyles before and after Covid19.  And just like that, we found ourselves deep in a conversation about the ‘what next.’ We talked about sustainability and gamed the current shut-downs into a frightening scenario where people have been stretched too far; where law abiding citizens have no reserves left and therefore resort to unthinkable practices to provide for their families. What started as a familial check-in morphed into a dark conversation and we recognized the murky waters in which we are wading.  Almost in unison, we shifted our conversation to the positive ‘we -will -get -through -this’ message. I felt myself bump into that invisible wall, propelling me back in the other direction. This too has become normal.

This morning I read through a few news stories and chills ran down my spine; an organized protest in New Hampshire demanding removal of lock-down mandates. Scores of people gathered in Ohio in their cars honking with signs demanding the same. A photo taken from inside the statehouse in Columbus Ohio looking out onto the steps captured a mob of angry faces screaming and pressed against the glass. It looked like a scene from the Walking Dead, but these are the angry living.  De Blasio announces that New Yorkers can report social distancing violations by texting photos to authorities.  I flash back to last night; to my ‘what if’ chat. That conversation was cleared from my mental pathway last night as I watched a coming together of musicians, artists, political figures and medial workers in a Global effort to bring our world together. People played, sang and spoke from their homes in every corner of the globe: Australia, Africa, Canada, Japan and India; sharing messages of love and unity. 

Last night, the world coming together.

This morning, the world coming apart.

I watch a video of a protester in Ohio raging from her car demanding that the governor release the social distancing limitations. “We’re tired of not being able to buy the things that we need; tired of not being able to go the hairdressers, get out hair done.”  The chills down my spine shift into anger in my gut. I remember the nurse who spoke last night about her commitment to be present to those losing the battle with the virus; about the loneliness and fear in these people who know where they are heading and cannot say good-bye to their loved ones, and I imagine the promises these nurses make about messages they may never be able to deliver, just to bring peace to those final hours.  This woman in Ohio is like a toddler demanding candy instead of vegetables; doing what is necessary to maintain health is not nearly as sweet as indulging our vanities. I feel it; that invisible wall, propelling me back in the other direction.

Needing to reel myself back in, I reflect upon something I read recently about Mr. Rogers. His mother gave him a bit of wisdom that he carried throughout his life when dealing with difficult times. “Look for the helpers.” No matter what is happening, there are people helping and that is where you need to focus. There is so much more good than bad. People everywhere are uniting in good works. In my small community, people are sewing masks for first responders and citizens who now need them to go into any public buildings. People have offered excess supplies to those who cannot find them. A local photographer is photographing high school seniors in their prom dresses all over town since they will not be able to enjoy the quintessential senior rite of passage. Groups have organized donations to food banks, gift certificates programs to support the restaurants and to provide assistance to the families of first responders, and individuals have offered to be shoppers for the elderly.

On larger scales, homeless have been moved into hotels, college dorms have been transitioned to house medical staff not wanting to bring risk home to their families, Disney and others have donated excess food to local food pantries. Restaurant food distributors are now delivering to homes in addition to businesses. Ford, GM and 3M are among some of the companies that have shifted to manufacture respirators, ventilators and PPE.

I search for homeostasis in all of this; in the news, in my family, in my heart. I am mindful about what I put into my thoughts and hold tight to the balance between staying informed and staying hopeful. I try to find the middle ground between taking charge and trusting the process. I work hard to slow that left and right rebound of my thoughts and feelings. I hold onto hope and look for miracles. They are all around.

My text notification dings and pulls me away from this thought. It is Chet from Florida. He tells me he has wild sunflowers popping up in his yard eighty feet away from his sunflower garden. He send me images of perfect sunflowers that popped up where they were not intended, and then an image that I will return to over and over;  A mutant flower with three flowers out of one head.

It speaks to me about adaptation and hope. It is not normal, but it is beautiful, much like our lives at this time. I will spend today pondering that. Looking for the helpers and admiring the beauty in abnormal mutant flowers.

I feel myself center between the walls.