Dunkirk NY – We are well into yellow summer. While light still remains past 8PM, I can see and feel the diminishing days shorten. In a few weeks we will be 18 months into the pandemic. The Delta variant has created another wave of infections and hospitalizations, and what just a few months ago felt like a glimmer of hope has relapsed into a renewed sense of dread and just plain weariness.
On the one hand, I remain far removed from the pandemic. I have no job to go to or any other pressing activities that would put me in contact with others. I’ve solved the shopping dilemma by doing 95% of my grocery shopping online and driving to the store to have someone place it in my car. My greatest regret is not being able to travel. It’s not that we couldn’t travel; it’s that we choose not to. I don’t see the purpose of spending the money to roll the RV down the road just to camp in some different place. My home is comfortable, and there’s plenty of opportunity to recreate right here should I so choose.
What is lacking, however, is joy. If the pandemic has robbed me of anything, it is joy. It’s really no longer possible to see the world as a place where people quietly get along despite their differences. The pandemic has been very successful at not only infecting millions and killing over 650,000 US residents, but also at tearing apart the thin veneer of any concept of civility. We are now a torn nation, with no god, quite divisible, with liberty and justice for the 1%.
It is difficult to think about nurturing a sense of joy when you witness the manifest stupidity taking place in this country every day. Political divisions, race divisions, ethnic divisions, and class divisions of all makes, models, and types abound. I’ve no interest in traveling to places where people are so stupid that they are willing to let others – and often themselves – die over mask requirements and vaccines. I don’t want to talk or interact with people who have misappropriated the word “freedom” to mean “privilege.” I don’t want to interact with selfish people in national parks and forests who trash the places they visit.
The joy of any possible new experience is poisoned by these realities. The simple act of entering a store is fraught with concern and caution each time I put my mask on. A potluck I am scheduled to attend this coming Saturday has now become one where masks will be worn outside and social distancing is in effect. Children are starting school and becoming sick, bringing the virus home to family. It’s not fun out there, not joyful.
To this point, retirement has not been anything I had imagined. I went into it with not much planning and forethought, feeling that within the first three years, some direction would naturally make itself known. So far it has – being there for others. The pandemic has had its own complications in terms of society shutting down. I’ve not really done much of what I wanted to do; I’ve just been reacting to situations that come up. I feel fortunate to be free to handle them without issue, but they do not inspire joy. The coming winter seems to be trending more into the direction of another season of hibernation. I hope in the next few months I can pack in a few joyful activities to last through the coming darkness. -twl