collective breath.

Sunday March 15^th, 2020.

Breathe.

Every time I see the directive written somewhere, I inhale deeply, surprised by the fact that I can't seem to compel myself to do this without constant external reminders.

Breathe.

A week ago, here in California we were all just starting to get obsessive about washing our hands, and the inexplicable toilet paper craze was happening. Despite having zero worrywart tendencies, I was quietly worrying about my young teen being forgetfully careless while taking public transportation to school, even though she'd agreed to wear winter gloves while traveling and wash hands religiously upon entering school. And I was feeling unbearably foggy-brained and exhausted, unsure whether it was The Virus or my body's empathic response to intense collective fear and anxiety. (To date I haven't had a cough nor a fever, so I suspect it's the latter, especially considering those symptoms greatly intensified every time I spent time in public. But the jury's still out.)

Breathe.

Four days and about 100 articles later (thank you, true journalists), my perspective had completely evolved, to the understanding that there were probably thousands already infected moving around the region, and I, my kid, or any one of my friends might very well be among them. By then I had also arrived at the conviction that all schools should absolutely close asap – a concept that had seemed insane just the day before. Friday started with a 7:30am call to my child's other parent, trying to get on the same page about how to work out this unprecedented quasi-quarantine with a kid who shuttles between two distant households, one of which has several adult tenants. All day, my chest was tight with concern - for all my freelance and artist peers already losing work and income; for my septuagenarian parents and relatives in my home country, where cases were starting to emerge; for my loved ones who already suffer from high anxiety; for all the kids for whom this level of adult uncertainty is deeply distressing. I did my last in-person interpreting job, painfully aware that any one of us (the interpreters or the women we were translating for) could easily be exposing the others, despite our best efforts. I picked up the kid from school along with all her textbooks and binders. And so began The Collective Quarantine for those with school-aged kids – and, hopefully, most everyone else.

Breath was frankly difficult on that last day of public life.

My headache wouldn't let up.

But that afternoon I read something that rang some kind of secret bell of truth, and in that moment, my shoulders relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever.

What if this virus is here to help us reset?

My wired brain stopped dead in its tracks.

What if this virus is an ally in our evolution? In our remembrance of what it means to be connected, humane, living a simpler life, to be less impactful on our environment?

An unexpected, deep resonance vibrated through me, head to toe.

It was time to change, we all knew that. Change is here.

I read that some parts of China are seeing clear skies for the first time in decades.

I observe local governments and businesses taking caring action in the absence of an adequate federal response.

I see people canceling life as we know it, despite massive financial implications, to protect our community at large, our elders and the immunocompromised especially.
(Panicked shopping non-withstanding,) I see, perhaps for the first time in my life, many US communities starting to adopt a global solidarity mindset instead of an individualistic one.

9/11 brought on a great show of solidarity, but only for those within US borders -- rallied against a foreign enemy.

This is different. This is a deep reset for late-stage capitalist societies if there ever was one.

(Asian countries, culturally much more collectively-minded than Western ones, were able to respond to the virus threat in ways the US is currently absolutely not able to.)

All of this fills me with hope.
We all knew a massive change was needed in how we've structured our societies.

I breathe. Acceptance. The change is here.

We take a collective breath.

We're all in this together.