The Moment the Whole World Paused

Lately, we’ve all heard a heavy rotation of the words “unprecedented” or “never before in our lifetime” and other powerful phrases that essentially mean: we’re living through history right now. There’s no doubt that this event will define this year (and maybe even this decade?), it will be something we explain to our grandkids someday, and it will absolutely make it into history books. And if you happen to be reading this when this moment is in fact historic, I’m talking about the COVID-19 pandemic.

March 2020 has felt like the longest, most drawn-out month of all time — and it’s hard to believe a tornado tore through Nashville at the beginning of this same month. That feels like a distant, surreal event that got pushed to the backburner so we could focus on the more pressing issues at hand. And boy, are they pressing.

Essentially, our entire world has hit the pause button. Or in some instances, the stop and eject buttons. Restaurants, bars, shops, salons, schools, movie theaters, stadiums, gyms, malls — practically every single type of establishment has been ordered to shut its doors until further notice. This has left millions all over the country without work (or with severely limited hours) and all of us with strict instructions to stay home and away from other people.

Processing the tornado stunted my ability to process the various elements of this coronavirus pandemic, so it took me longer than most to reach the conclusion felt by so many. Essentially, it is two-fold: 1) This is horrible and not something I am glad is happening, from both a healthcare and economic standpoint. And when I say “economic,” I mean that on both the individual level (unemployment, small business closures, etc.) as well as the national scale. 2) The world is finally taking a pause.

I even hesitate to type those words — or anything about this being a “gift” or to paint an ultra silver lining around something that is causing so much grief, destruction, pain, and literal death around the globe. Yet, I cannot help but appreciate the unexpected positive side effects of something as astronomical as this.

I think of the career-oriented parents who are now working from home, able to spend those extra minutes with their kids they would otherwise be spending in the car commuting to and from work. I think of the young professional who FaceTimes her parents more often instead of meeting up with friends at a bar. I think of the person who is finally laying down the foundation for the business they’ve wanted to pursue for years, but never found the time to do — or the exact opposite: the person who is surrendering their hurried, hectic and hustle-forward life to one of rest, peace and stillness.

In fact, I’ve been overwhelmed by the pressure to “maximize” this time period — to write a novel, to learn a new language, to tackle all the house projects, to make this time worth it. Or to have something to show for myself at the end of this thing. And yet, I’ve given myself permission to rest for as long as I need before returning to productivity. And you should allow yourself to do the same! If you don’t emerge as a bilingual Chip Gaines with a best-selling cookbook, that’s okay.

And how perfect is it that spring emerged somewhere in the midst of this chaos? The morning after the tornado was the first true spring-like day Nashville experienced this year, and it was a subtle yet promising sign of good things to come. Not to mention, the first day of spring (which happened to fall on my birthday this year!) was the earliest first day of spring in 124 years, since 1896. And if that’s not a sign of good things to come, I don’t know what is.

Most of us have had the time and space to notice spring this year, like we never have before. And I mean truly notice spring. The way the trees completely blossom within a matter of days and slowly drop their dainty petals to the pavement like snow. The way the pavement smells after a heavy rain. How birds sing together like a poorly orchestrated yet perfectly beautiful duet. And how the air feels heavier and fuller with heat and yet somehow lighter — more fresh, more free.

And people are waving again. Yelling out “how are yous” from their front porch. We’re lingering a little longer to check on the barista putting your to-go order together (followed by a healthy dose of Purell). While we’re each experiencing it in slightly (and sometimes drastically) different ways, we’re all going through this collective trauma together, side by side — well, 6 feet apart.

If you look at it on paper, you could say we’ve resorted to robotic tendencies and a hyper-digital world of screens, text and pixels, in order to stay connected to one another and stay informed from our couches. That we’ve traded hugs for likes, coffee dates for FaceTime and Bible studies for Zoom calls. However, by becoming “less human” through this period, I would argue we’ve actually become more human. In a 2020 digitized way, we’ve stepped back in time to an era where humans relied heavily on each other to get through the worst and most challenging of times.

We’ve proven where our priorities actually lie as a society — and that is: human life and our relationships. Because when human life is threatened just like it is now, we will stop everything (and yes, that means the Olympics, the NBA, and heaven forbid: Disneyland) in order to protect it. To make sure the death count stays as low as possible. And beyond that, when all the businesses are closed and the events are cancelled, we still have each other to lean on. We may temporarily lose our favorite happy hour spot, but we will not lose the human connection we so desperately need — especially during times like these.

Like I mentioned, it took me quite a while to come to terms with there being anything remotely positive about this (and I would still argue: there’s nothing inherently positive about a pandemic at all — even if it took just one human life). But I’m also appreciating this rare and novel opportunity we have to pause. To breathe. To consider. To grieve. To help. To ponder. To rest. To wait. To love. To hope.

And I hope the lessons we learn during this period will remain with us well beyond the shutdown. That we remember how to slow down to notice every small detail on our neighborhood walks. That we FaceTime our grandmas more often and take an extra long nap on Sunday afternoons. And we all breathe a little deeper and a little slower.