100 days. We’ve all unwittingly participated in a #100daysproject experiment. 100 days ago most of our offices and schools sent us home. Some of us were fortunate enough to continue working, others furloughed or fired. Still others put in overtime to keep us safe, healthy, and fed.
Our kids tried, some in earnest, some not so much, to concentrate on e-learning. Maybe they had a space of their own, but most likely not. But they and their teachers gave it the best effort. It was only going to be for a little while, right?
It was a lark, to be honest. Neighborhoods formed Covid-19 support email chains and planned Saturday night singalongs. We had family dinner, every night. Kids painted “Thank You, Helpers” signs and chalked obstacle courses on sidewalks. We marveled at how our stay-at-home orders cleared the smog over Los Angeles and the water in Venice.
We turned our Free Little Libraries into Free Little Pantries (umm, because we had to share what we’d hoarded?). New Yorkers, never perceived as the friendliest folks, erupted into applause each night precisely at 7 p.m. to thank their heroes.
We were all in it together. As a sign in my neighborhood said, “We’ll get through this together. We have to. We’re neighbors.”
We’ve baked 100 loaves of no-rise bread and moved on to sourdough. We’ve watched 100 episodes of bingeable television. Completed 100 jigsaw puzzles, coloring pages, Lego structures, marathon Scrabble games. Swapped 100 quarantine recipes, tried 100 new hobbies, planned 100 home improvement projects. Deep cleaned 100 closets (Marie Kondo is so proud). Planted 100 seedlings that are now in 100 pots for 100 21st century “victory gardens.”
We’ve balanced our accounts, read books, and reconnected with people we’d long since forgotten we’d “friended” on Facebook. The Zoom Seders kicked off Zoom shiva calls, funerals, weddings, b’nai mitzvahs. And, of course, Zoom cocktails, book clubs, cooking classes, game nights, yoga. And video reunions. So many reunions.
All the while we cleaned maniacally. For a while. We called our aging parents more frequently, often to lecture them about the importance of not leaving their homes for any reason. We scared them so much they didn’t want to go to the hospital, even when they should have.
Our seniors realized prom was never gonna happen. Graduation would be different. And for the college-bound? Who knows? Still, we were all in it together. Our littlest birthday kids had virtual parties—with cupcakes and goodie bags delivered all over town before the clown performed on-screen. The bigger kids got drive-bys and socially distant (our new portmanteau) cake sharing.
Some of us came down with the novel coronavirus, with or without symptoms. We started to hear about friends who lost parents, uncles, neighbors. We hoped our governors would extend our stay-at-home orders.
Then, around Day 70, our world erupted. We were all home, swiping through 100 social media posts. The horrors that have been happening around us for years screamed at us from 100 different directions. This time, however, we took notice. We planned 100 protests. We raised our voices together and we cried for change.
It took 100 days of separation for us to find community and humanity. For us to see imbalance in our healthcare system and our justice system. For us to acknowledge with one voice in 100 cities that change must come. We are more than 100 years too late and we owe 100 apologies. We can do better.
Let’s spend the next 100 making sure change comes—registering people to vote, keeping pressure on our politicians to reform our justice system, educating ourselves. With our hundreds of voices, let’s continue to speak at 10 decibels for those whose voices can no longer be heard and make sure that their memories will be for a blessing.
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