It is so hard to believe that next week the fall season will officially begin. On the eve of September, we look forward with apprehension to a disruptive fall season.
In one of my favorite books, it says, that for everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven. It presents a world of patterns, a world I find comforting. But at this time in the history of the world, many of the patterns we have lived with much of our lives are eerily different and no longer there to anchor us.
Stores may be open, but we are nervous to go into them. People are leaving their homes, but they are hard to recognize because they are masked up, and keeping their distance. No one who doesn’t live in my house has been in it since early March. No friends, no family, no congregants. And I live in New York City, where the virus is at its lowest ebb since the beginning. I am lucky. Many inhabitants of the United States are not as lucky. For so many, this sustained disruption of patterns is extraordinarily difficult psychologically, but perhaps especially for those who are wired like I am, who depend on patterns to hold anxiety and depression at bay, who do not thrive on constant change.
In our Humanist communities we are often defined by others as unbelievers. But we know and we often declare that we are a community of believers. Thus far, I am persevering because I am a believer. I believe that we will beat COVID, and though we may come out scarred, we will be stronger, and our daily routines will return and will be so sweet. I hope, in six months, I will shop for food and not be scared. I will go to the symphony and hear the Mozart’s Flute Quartets live. I will greet you in person, without a mask and I will smile.
