On what is missing

On my morning run, there was a new gap in the canopy. This, in itself, is not unusual in our rainforest valley. Trees fall and gaps form, other trees quickly stretch for their fill of sunshine and provision of shade, and thus the space closes.

But this tree was one of my favourites: a forest giant, standing for eons right alongside another mighty tree. A pair of elderly guardians who had seen it all, and watched on still. Every time I ran beneath those two, I looked up. (Way, way up.)

But now there’s a gaping hole in our canopy —an uncoupling of old friends—and this just wasn’t the week for me to take it well...

It’s like social distancing, for trees.

Makes me ache, for a myriad other things lost and cancelled in the last few weeks: the holidays and celebrations and weddings and launches and reunions and projects and performances and catch-ups and competitions and procedures and classes and conferences, and even whole businesses.

Not to mention the lives already lost, the world over.

But the ‘social distancing’, that’s an insidious loss we’re only just beginning to grapple with. It’s hard to count the hidden cost of that mere metre and a half.

Due to my parents’ age and complicating medical issues, I am keeping myself and my children at a safe distance—for mum and dad’s sake, for the time being. It bloody hurts. I dropped around mum’s house today to pick up a package for her, and stood at a distance of two metres from her screen door, just to chat. It’s ridiculous/ it’s sensible/ it’s over the top/ it’s for the best/ how long must we go on like this? A scenario being repeated in countless families and friendships.

I helped out in my son’s prep classroom this morning. Their beautiful teacher has taught them all to ‘air high five’ and ‘air hug’. But the first, instinctive thing a group of five year-olds do each day when they see their beloved teacher? Run at her, shrieking, with arms outstretched. (For a teacher, it must feel a scene from the Walking Dead.) Social distancing is not a concept natural, easy or sustainable for children. But teachers and schools are doing their absolute best right now, as they’ve been asked to, for as long as they can.

For this introvert-writer, solitude is desirable, coveted even. Conversely, I’m an introvert with a high need for closeness and affection. (And attention. Lots of attention) Thankfully, I have my own in-house family to coddle and cuddle —but what about those who don’t?

Social isolation kills. We already know this from robust research evidence. Loneliness increases the risk for premature mortality.

The social distancing and self-isolation measures urged by authorities across the globe are only temporary, and utterly necessary. We have to save as many lives as we can, and we’re all in this together…albeit at a prudent distance. But what might these gaping holes do to us in the meantime?

Humans will always find a way, though. I for one have spent the last week coated in goosebumps and sniveling loudly over the viral videos (no pun intended) coming out of European cities under lockdown: isolated humans, uniting joyfully through music and song, from separate balconies.

(You see? No matter what, humans will find a way to touch each other.)

2020 will make the history books — a major entry, unprecedented in modern chapters. But will we be remembered therein as the humans who stole our neighbours’ share of toilet paper, profiteered from desperation, flashed our weapons and cruel words, and hoarded rice against all common sense advice?

Or, will we go down in the annals of civilization as the generation who took only what we needed, made do and made up and made it through, donated our excess goods to others in dire straits, kept ED and medical centres clear of the inconsequential, ran errands and made deliveries for the isolated, gave way and gave away, supported local and small businesses, promoted artists and the self-employed, volunteered for impromptu assistance services springing up, heeded and honoured our emergency services personnel and health care professionals, checked in with others, sent bountiful messages of love, extended grace and gratitude to customer service representatives, allowed others to go first, showed our respect on Anzac Day from the foot of our driveways, and yes —serenaded one another from our balconies. (I don’t have a balcony, nor a musical talent, so my neighbors can breathe a sigh of relief on this one.)

The distance between us is larger; but never unbridgeable. It’ll take creativity, selflessness, flexibility, compassion and resourcefulness, but that’s something we humans have in abundance. Especially in hard times.

There is a gap now—but we are still a canopy. And now is the time to cover one another more than ever before.

xx Averil