Uncertain times beget uncertain feelings. Amid a global crisis, we find ourselves feeling, well, not ourselves. Maybe we feel more kindly toward a challenging loved one, previously disliked authority figure, or Zoom-facilitated gathering. Lately I’ve noticed this manifesting on my Instagram feed: a collection of empty glasses captioned “WFH colleagues”; a liquor cabinet titled “happy family”; a distressingly fetal-looking carrot that is a “new friend.” Over Zoom book club, a friend told us how she was now “touching plants a lot” and thinking of them as people.
For me, locked down in North Brooklyn for the past sixty-plus days, I have been listening with new ears to Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York,” that schmaltzy number I’ve never much cared for but now voluntarily, joyfully, submit to hearing each night in my local park, played at 7:02 PM, after our customary clapping for essential workers.
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