Like the Fast and Furious franchise, it can seem as if Covid-19 has nine lives. Just when rates go down somewhere, they go up somewhere else. Countries like England and Israel that at first faltered in lockdown stick the landing on vaccines, and others that got off to strong starts fell behind when it came time to inject their citizens with the cure. Country’s with nearly pristine records like Australia have begun to see cases emerge, like storm clouds gathering on a sunny day at the beach. They might have to put on a shirt over their civic bikinis.
The Delta variant, which sounds like both what happens when you miss your connecting flight in Chicago and a bad science fiction movie, is actually another Covid strain that poses fresh fears, especially for the unvaccinated. For much of the world, in particular its poorer parts, the vaccine remains scandalously out of reach. Too many people will continue to die preventable deaths, as they have for far too long.
But here in the United States, the situation is distinctly otherwise. Sometimes it is harder to admit good news than bad, especially when it comes to our beleaguered political and administrative class, not to mention pharmaceutical behemoths. But the reality is that the story of vaccine in America is one of astounding success. They were developed in record time, and can be readily had by anyone who wants one. Vaccine hesitancy remains a challenge, but it is the exception that proves the rule: the bottleneck now is demand, not supply. Anyone who wants one can have one, for free.
According to CDC data, as of the end of June just under 47% of Americans have been fully vaccinated, although the numbers vary widely by state: more than six in ten residents of New York City are fully vaccinated. We are living in the future that we pined for just a few months ago.
Still, something feels unsettled, as if the Messiah came and no one quite believed that he was who he claimed to be. People admit that they still won’t take the subway, and nervously admit that they have plans to travel. They’ll ask you how strict you were last year, cannily trying to gauge something about your character from how vigilant you were with your pod (a truly horrific word I hope I never hear again). It is still hard to know when wearing a mask is required and when it isn’t; the policies are just inconsistent enough to be conducive to forgetting them.
Of course, it makes sense that we are going through a period of interstitial awkwardness. Breaking up with Covid was never going to be clean and simple. Stopping is easier, starting up again is hard. But the time has come to set aside pandemic things. It is time to unpause. It is time to live.
But what does that actually mean? The world will only come back if we breathe life into it. If the choice is between ordering in and going out, go out. If it is between coffee or Karaoke, start practicing your best rendition of ‘Blank Spaces,’ start clearing your throat. Go to a baseball game, and don’t be nervous about it. Dance and stay up late, and don’t think about Covid for a moment: what are vaccines for, if not imparting selective amnesia? Go on a date, and try to be close to someone, rather than far away. Open the door into a crowded apartment, and feel pulsing possibility rather than microbial danger.
The call of the moment sounds more deeply than just getting the band back together to replay the greatest pre-pandemic hits. It means coming up with a whole new playlist. Too many people found the strictures of quarantine too comfortable and comforting, congruent with their own neurosis. It was a sensory deprived womb they are still reluctant to exit. They need to get over it.
But just as we were all invested in each other’s health, now we share responsibility for restarting the world. I understand the hesitation that this might catalyze: when we bring back the joy and fun we also sign for the cruelty and heartbreak, the casual thoughtlessness and depressing grind of less than scintillating exchange. Opening a club can also mean opening your heart. You can embarrass yourself in both.
There is an old rabbinic idea that when the Torah was given at Mt. Sinai, God’s voice spoke in seventy languages simultaneously, to make the point that even Divine Truth could travel in different garb, and reach ears along different routes. The same is true for the urging of the post-Covid world. For some people, it will mean taking jobs, and for others leaving them. For those resistant to relationships, it might demand taking a leap of faith into one, while others should be plotting their exit from what is not working. For everyone, it should mean more passion, more risk, more boldness, living in bigger frames and broader brushstrokes.
We have seen the skull in the corner of the room, and felt the chill on the back of our necks. Written underneath memento mori is carpe diem. If not now, when?
Have a great holiday weekend,
A