Privilege in the time of Corona Virus
Walking in the woods of Kennedy park
I’ve been thinking a lot about privilege. Money. Health. Education. Family.
I grew up at a time when population was smaller, economy was expanding and opportunity was all around. I grew up in a small apartment in the Bronx, lived with the frugal values I learned from my parents who survived the depression and WW11. I was educated in public institutions that afforded me incredible learning at no cost, no student loans. Everything my husband and I bought we paid for in real time (except our mortgage, of course). Even something as important as the down payment on our first house was a privilege because my parents were able to lend us the money.
So, as we moved through our middle years we saved. We didn’t have to borrow money to send our kids to college. We didn’t have to re-mortgage the house to pay for their weddings. And now, in our (dare I say it) older years, we have two houses, one in the suburbs of NYC and the second in the profoundly beautiful and serene Berkshire hills of Massachusetts, where we are sequestered during the pandemic. A lot of that was luck and timing.
Then there is our health. Both my husband and I had cancer. Scary, but surmounted because—again—of privilege. Good health insurance, good doctors who were connected to people we knew, good hospitals nearby. So now we are hunkered down in the country and feeling amazingly well, which in this pandemic I guess is nothing to take for granted. And we both know that health is fleeting…one day here, next day not.
Education. I said I had a great, free education. I did. It equipped me to choose and have a fulfilling career, which gave me great happiness. I remember my father saying that he never had the Sunday night blues that so many people have, because he looked forward to going to work on Monday morning. I know I felt that way all my years as a social worker, and now, too, when my work consists of writing in my studio. My education enabled me to really expand my life, and I can enjoy being here in the Berkshires because there is so much to occupy my mind.
And finally, most important of all, our family, the greatest privilege we have. My husband and I have had the chance to watch our children grow into wonderful people, spending time together on trips and holidays over the years. And we have had the bonus of the joy of spending time with our grandchildren at “Cousins camp” here in the beautiful Berkshires—a blessing beyond measure.
Even now, at a distance, we are reminded of how rich are our connections. We are here. They are there—and there—and there. But we join together on Zoom and FaceTime and telephone and text and email. Another privilege—to live in this time of electronic connections.
So there is my take on being “stuck” in this most beautiful place at the time of Corona virus. I look out the window at the pond and the backyard “park.” We walk on the paths and roads around us, and the trails in some of the wilder places. We drive through the countryside and watch the very first reminders of spring.
Yesterday, we found a surprise entrance to one of our favorite nature preserves, and although a little muddy we walked and walked and discovered a pond with peepers. Those are the noisy tiny water frogs which turn into land frogs. But for now they are swimming in the water in the hundreds, chorusing their songs. You can hear them from a great distance. It is definitely a harbinger of spring.
My book is on track for publication in October 2020. I got back the proof of “How to Make a Life” from the publisher. Publishing and printing is considered an essential service. Go know!
Not everything is perfect. I miss hugging and kissing. I miss the face to face conversations and body to body contact of a hello hug and a goodbye kiss. But Zoom and FaceTime are good substitutes for everything but touch.
And I cannot help but think of those out there without our privilege and luck. The poor, the homeless, those who have lost their jobs or are in fear of losing them. I think of India with its billion people and the press of poverty. I think of Africa and war-torn Syria. What will become of the people there? I can only hope and support those institutions that are helping. And pray. A little prayer cannot hurt.
Peepers swimming in the pond