Infections are increasing across America and Europe. They’re talking about “pandemic fatigue.” The signs at the park that instruct us to keep six feet apart are faded and worn. I don’t think anyone expected they would be on display for so long.
What is the line between fatigue and acceptance? Maybe fatigue would make sense if this season of masks and dots on the floor lasted only a month or two (and for a time, this was possible). The muscle memory of normal might be exhausted, but it would eventually find its way back to its original condition. After seven months with no end in sight, however, acceptance seems like the only workable strategy. Again I find myself returning to the logic of grief, how it’s like losing an arm and there’s no growing it back. But sometimes loss can uncover new ways of understanding what’s important.
