Life is surreal in Seattle in the midst of the COVID-19 epidemic, with our rapidly mounting fatalities from the disease and steady upticks in people testing positive (for the fortunate ones who even have access to testing). The bizarre and awkward dance of social distancing with people walking out into our near empty streets to avoid passing other people at too close a distance. Children riding their bikes in circles outside their houses while frazzled-looking parents yell “Keep riding! You need more exercise!” Most everyone who can basically sheltering in place. An ever-expanding menu of options for homeless people to have safer, uncrowded shelter and medical respite services.
Yet the seasons turn, cheery trees blossom along with Wordsworth’s “a crowd, a host, of golden daffodils.” Life goes on. That is part of why it is so surreal. We now have whatever the opposite of the Shakespearean “pathetic fallacy” should be called. Our current sunny, blithely beautiful weather in Seattle does not reflect the ominous, sober, frightened, shocked, and mournful mood that hangs like a dark and virus-laden cloud over our city.
In times of great stress and grief (this is, after all, a time of collective grief for everything we have already lost and anticipate losing), and trauma—of disaster— we need to support all of our first responders. Not just medics and frontline nurses, physicians, public health workers, emergency shelter staff and janitors. To self-plagiarize (from my book Soul Stories: Voices from the Margins):
“Artists and writers are cultural and spiritual first responders in a disaster: they aid in the attempt to make meaning out of catastrophe and chaos, to find ways to not only survive but also thrive in the midst of adversity.”