[Intimement confinés #19] "Careful what you wish for". Phoebe Taubman

May 9th. During the containment against COVID19, a text written and read by Phoebe Taubman. Careful what you wish for This virus has a nasty sense of humor. Before the pandemic, I was living a full and beautiful life with my husband and two kids in Brooklyn, NY. But like all New Yorkers, I had wistful visions of a simpler existence. I imagined myself walking among trees in the forest rather than cramming into the subway with a crush of humanity. I daydreamed of quiet and the space to be with my thoughts, interrupted only by birdsong. My husband is a native New Yorker. He has the city’s rhythm in his veins. He’s constantly moving, striving, planning. He loves the city. Yet even he would muse out loud about finding the quiet, learning patience, and spending more time with our kids. Then came the coronavirus -- like an evil genie, granting our wishes with a smirk of self-satisfaction on its face. “You wanted a slower pace? You wanted more time with family? You wanted to practice patience? Shazam! Wishes granted!” We are living in the country now. We moved in with my husband’s parents two months ago. We have endless time with family. No more busy schedules. No more rushing between appointments. No more subway commute. We are with our kids all day, every day, and yes, we have been practicing patience. Careful what you wish for, I guess. But I know I am lucky. And I am grateful. Grateful for the woods. For the ability to walk outside without wearing a mask. Grateful for two extra adults who help with the work of cooking, cleaning the house, and homeschooling my kids. Grateful for the ability to shelter in such a peaceful place. Still -- I miss my home. I grieve for my city. All that human density and perpetual movement created a lot of friction, but it also produced an extraordinarily beautiful light. I miss its glow. I know better than to make any more wishes. I am chastened. But I do hope. I hope that the inequities this virus has laid bare will not soon be forgotten after the storm has passed. I hope that this experience will spur our species to care more for each other, for our planet, and for the other creatures who share this precious home with us. I fervently hope that my fellow Americans will vote, in record numbers this November, for leaders who believe in science and the public good. And I hope that one day soon, we will be able to breathe, sing, and laugh within six feet one another, without fear. Phoebe Taubman