Two Boats, One Life Raft

It's a strange side effect of the virus; I have more in common now with people from across the world than I did before. So many people are hiding inside because that's what we're supposed to do. It's a good thing, but still. We're left to wait and continue.

Recently, I've thought about our emphasis on health professionals. I see photos of doctors and nurses in scrubs. They're waging a battle. They're on the front lines.

Their signs tend to say variations of the same thing:

"We stay here for you. Please stay home for us."

The point is to promote social isolation. I get it. But I also wonder: why is no one talking about mental health providers?

Therapists, psychiatrists, psychiatric nurses, and more—aren't they on the front lines too?

Without the ability to congregate, to socialize as we did—and I hope that this isn't true—there may be spikes in mental health crises, as well as an increase in overall mental health obstacles and difficulties. As people around the country lose their jobs or have to take unpaid leave, those who already had mental or emotional difficulties may find these made worse by the news.

I don't know how much I can help. As someone who prides herself on helping, on being there for people, I just can't say that I know what to do when everyone (everyone, except the six other people living in my house) becomes invisible. I wonder if our relationships will be the same. If they even can be the same.

I called my best friend last night, and I mentioned Her and Love is Blind. Two entirely different pieces of media, but they both leave me with several questions. The first: what are the limitations to never truly occupying the same room as another person? Can you still connect with them? Can you still feel for them in the same way? This question does not arise from the physical aspects of interacting, as I don't tend to high-five and leave hugs mostly for goodbyes. It almost seems easier to connect with someone when they’re in the same room because of the physical proximity. I want to see everyone’s face without a time lag or glitches. Yet even if I had a perfectly normal digital representation of any person in the world right on that wall, I would still want them right here, next to me. It’s the physical barriers—walls, trees, hills—between us that seem doubled when there’s uncertainty of how long they’ll stay between us. On the other hand, maybe it’s good to deal with uncertainty from time to time, or just for extended periods of time. Maybe these questions don't have good answers.

And possibly a more important question: WHY DOES JESSICA GIVE HER DOG WINE?

I don't mean to interrupt myself. Except that I do. While you're feeling the feelings, whatever they may be, don't forget to consider how you would respond to yourself.

What would I say to myself if I were a friend of mine?

Life isn't the same. It can't be. But that doesn't mean that we won't get through it. Together. We're in the same boat. Well, different boats, but similar models separated by miles upon miles.

You can bring joy to people, starting with yourself. And then look to the people around you; they're probably stressed too. And then there's people you tend to text but haven't lately and everyone whose number you have but never texted. My professor even gave us his phone number out to our class in case we needed to ever contact him about those life questions—well, Life questions with a capital “L.”

Everyone's stressed. That isn't to say you should stop stressing but that it's ok to reach out since everyone can empathize with what you're feeling, even if it isn't exactly the same.

So, yeah. You do have more in common now with people from across the world. But you still have things in common with the people who aren't quite the strangers you think they are.

~Grace Leffler