Today’s walk took me past many doors, no two alike. They made me curious about those inside, what they thought and how were they doing in a pandemic exacerbated by racial discord. My musings reminded me of Anatole France’s saying, “Even a little dog is the center of his own universe.” On the other side of each doorway I imagined a universe of its own.
I knocked on the door of an elderly neighbor who came out to say she was on an emotional see-saw. She missed seeing her family and berated herself for naively believing that the world was getting better. She thought the United Nations would bring about world peace and that global problems would be solved through dialogue rather than war. I heard the pain in her voice and listened to her choked cry as I stood behind six feet away behind my mask.
A parent with young children stood before her door as I walked by. She complained of the difficulty of working from home, juggling childcare while staying sane. She’s challenged by keeping her rowdy kids occupied when on the computer doing research and writing reports? She shouts more often than usual and pushes them away in the middle of calls to important customers? Her five and seven-year-olds don’t understand why she doesn’t want them around when they’re ready to show off a puppet show they put together.
Behind another door I pass is a furloughed father who worries about not being able to pay for food and the possibility of being being kicked out of his apartment. Not used to staying home with nothing to do, he watches hours of news and sleeps over twelve hours leach day, leaving his kids to fend for themselves. His depression is severe but he has no one to talk to and would not think of contacting a mental health worker for help.
I rang the bell on the door of my adopted African-American family for an afternoon of diversion. They have their two children, a five and an eight-year-old. We stayed outside in the sun attempting to maintain social distance while drawing pictures, playing with clay, running around and reading books. Staying six feet apart is not achieved easily with young ones. They are a loving, immigrant family who came to the United States to escape violence only to find themselves thrust into it again. Their television is tuned to the protests with videos of George Floyd and other racially caused deaths flooding their living space. The eight-year-old is afraid her parents will be killed because of the color of their skin. She does not feel comfortable talk to them about her concerns so she buries her worry inside.
I walked past the door of a couple who married two weeks before the city was sequestered and wondered what it was like to be newlyweds without being able to take breaks or being able to see old friends. Sex is a great diversion but if you are not on solid footing it can turn sour. I’ve read that the pandemic is putting a wedge between many people living in close quarters, dissolving relationships before they’ve matured. It takes courage and fortitude to live with a mate day in and day out. There has to be open and honest communication along with along with flexibility. Hopefully they will work things out between them. That neither has taken to excess drink or drugs to solve their problems is a hopeful sign.
Those living alone behind closed doors have their own difficulties. We are social animals who can talk to the walls just so long. Spending hours on Zoom or connecting on Facebook is not the same as being held in someone’s arms or hugging a child. Apartment dwellers find it especially difficult, for though there may be many people in the same building they often don’t know one another. To distance themselves they have to wait a long time for empty elevators. City dwellers out for a walk are less likely to pass someone they know than those who live in neighborhoods where they greet one another while dog walking, weeding the garden or taking early morning hikes.
A few houses down from me is a door I pass regularly. It opens to the home of an emergency room doctor whose hours were reduced because of Covid-19. He wasn’t home long before music and strange sounds started coming from his garage making neighbors curious as to what was going on. Finally a day came the door flew open to astonish those who thought they new him well. Instead of cars, his garage was filled with tools and welding supplies that in his hands produced a wildly inventive sculpture.
My door opens to the same universe I lived before the pandemic. My cat cries to go out so she can catch a live mouse to bring home as a gift that Ray and I have to chase down. I exercise daily, write, read, paint and counsel people on the phone and through Zoom. Ray and I still talk, fight, make up and are more grateful than ever that we have each other. I miss going to the gym but will stay away until I feel it is safe, convinced the virus will return with a vengeance, believing it’s more important to be diligent now than before. I’m delighted at the peaceful protests and knowing young people want to bring about change in a world that dumps misery on the poor. I hope they can make it a gentler, kinder , fairer world.
In the midst of Covid-19, racial tensions, and demands to demilitarize the police, I hope we don’t forget that global warming remains the major issue of the times. If we don’t do something about it now, what we currently experience will remain a kindergarten lesson. The chaos and hardship that a warming planet will bring will be much worse.
In this energized climate I feel hope, for our youth see a different universe than the one my contemporaries evolved. Through their eyes and effort I believe that the world can be changed for the better.
