My dad created a collage in homage (? honor?, to mark? what is the proper way to address a pandemic?) to this era of 2020 coronavirus. He made it and then about a day or so later, this article appeared in the NYTimes about Winter, a young llama whose antibodies are helping scientists research ways to neutralize the new virus that causes Covid-19. The timing seemed crazy and I wondered if my dad was living some sort of double life: communicating with researchers in Belgium while collaging in a studio in Yucaipa, California. He could neither confirm nor deny this, so I stopped asking. (I’ve seen enough James Bond movies to know that I didn’t want to push my luck and become neutralized for knowing too much.)

But timing, coincidence, overlapping thoughts and moments, these are seeming to seep into life more and more lately. And it’s not because I’m experimenting with mind-altering drugs with all my copious amounts of time. The psilocybin ship sailed for me decades ago and time has not been that copious, frankly. Instead I think it’s a matter of a lot of the little things popping up and connecting that heretofore I may have ignored, but are now revealing themselves like a jack-in-the-box cranking into action on the regular. Beyond just the freaky fact that the entire effin world is experiencing the same virus in real time, and although governments are dealing with it in varied ways, humans who are living it are crossing paths (virtually, safely) in ways heroic. Given the absolute ineptitude of our own embarrassment of a leader, it’s not been lost on anyone that citizens are doing it for themselves. Springing into action to create and make and send and help how and where they can. Whatever that looks like: leaving a thank-you note for a delivery person, picking up groceries for someone, or, as evidenced below, making acrylic boxes to help doctors intubate patients. It’s all amazing in the doing.

Because life does trip all over itself, while the conversation continues around still-rising infection rates and focused work to develop a vaccine, there is also discussion about the phased reopening of the country as governors state by state assess their population’s safety.

While they lay out what the physicality looks like, I wonder what the phased reopening of our emotional selves looks like.

Here in Cali, stage one—already in play—from Gov. Newsom is all about supplying essential workers with what they need to be protected while doing their job. This seems pretty straightforward. Make sure the masks, gowns, gloves, sanitizers, all the PPE are available and ready for use by those essential folks who need them. Cue the emotional component: These things are still hard to come by (and we’re not even talking about testing kits) so the thrum of anxiety of essential workers, which is dominoed onto the rest of us who want them to be okay as they do the jobs we applaud them for, is still kicking as hard as the low-bass of a DJ D-Nice track during an Instagram dance party.

This is where an industry not always known for its warm and fuzzies has been stepping up: the global fashion business. By creating scrubs, masks, hand sanitizers, and more, then using all the connections usually associated with getting the latest Hermés Birkin bag out onto the market, the fashion sector has stepped up to fill a need and in so doing has turned down the panic sensation slightly to maybe an eight. A blog I follow, Accidental Icon introduced me to a great podcast called The Wardrobe Crisis, which looks at how to be sustainable in fashion and is hosted by Vogue Australia’s sustainability editor, Clare Press (because that is actually a job title that exists in Australia). The most recent, “Fashion Takes on PPE,” is amazing on a lot of levels and really brings home the absolute it-takes-a-village mentality of sisters (and brothers) doin’ it for themselves, and then doing what they can to spread the wealth.

Stage two is “reopening retail for curbside pickup, plus consider how to adapt and reopen schools, child care, offices and limited hospitality, personal services.” Emotional component: My mind has completely scrambled around what I’m even interested in picking up anymore. And I don’t mean that in a clothing or haircut kind of way, because currently I’m at peace with my wardrobe and my hair (weird, I know, but Overtone is my friend and I’ve been a girl with braids, I can always be a girl of a certain age with them again). I more mean my mind and soul have been a bit scrambled around what is important to pick up at the metaphorical curb. My two closest and most immediate loves—dad and Dennis—are here. My mom and friends are on the other side of the wire whether voices or zooms. If ever I was going to reassess what is important, now is it. My friend Amy sent this brilliant, spot-on article, “Fuck the Bread. The Bread is Over.” It is funny and poignant. It so well sums up how perspective can and does change in an instant. Phase two of my emotional reentry right now is intentional rather than reactive mind.

Stage three appears to have an eye on inviting people back into social spaces (movie theaters, restaurants and the like). If I’m going to enter back into those places that are meant for pleasure, then I want to figure out how to feel happy about it. To me, the emotional component is the challenge of showing emotion minus the lower half of my face. I’m not sure why, but while wearing a mask, I feel like we’re all averting our eyes. Like there’s guilt or shame or, probably more to the point, deep discomfort with what our body language is suggesting. It’s furtive. It’s asking “is this alright? am I supposed to be here?” The other day at Trader Joe’s a guy stopped in front of me as I waited at the checkout. He flicked his head up at the sign that said “15-or-under items,” then glanced down at my cart, which held quite obviously triple that. My first instinct was WTF until I realized what he was getting at and nodded. Right, lightbulb moment. Get in the right line. Then he said, muffled from mask, “I’m smiling under here” and that broke the moment wide open. Note to self, when possible, smile under the mask.

And finally, stage 4, “Reopen areas of highest risk: e.g. Concerts, conventions, sports arenas, bars.” Well that seems a pretty far piece away, although I’m already looking forward to the emotional bits of this. I root around inside and feel it as a sensation of flight. It feels like a metaphorical baseball, a game I’ve been a fair-weather fan of at best. When I moved to NYC in 1984, the Mets won the World Series right as I was really embracing my city citizenship, so naturally I hooked right into the Mookie’s and Hernandez’s and screamed and cheered. Then I became a Yankee fan because I liked the stadium better (and they were winning, too). But I digress: If I think of what I look forward to during this phase, it is hope for the future soaring just a bit. The ball cracked off the bat and flying for the fence. Lifting off. It’s not quite a home run and the outfielder will stop it before it gets out of the stadium, before total freedom, but for that moment it’s good to soar. And in future, when a vaccine or a life workaround exists that lets the hope escape out of the confines and around the world, well… I’ll look forward to that.