The last two months have changed the way we see the world. Certain tasks have slowed—I am doing a lot more cooking now. Family meals and sharing stories at the end of the day seem more important than ever. Yet other tasks have accelerated—if I have five minutes to answer a few emails while my son is finishing his Zoom class, I will seize the moment.
Along with these changes, there has been more time to observe who, how, and where we are in this new, distance-learning world. In that spirit, here are a few of my observations from two months of life in a pandemic:
Our vernacular has changed. Zoom used to be a kid’s TV program from the 70’s. Waiting rooms were where I flipped through magazines before dentist appointments. Hosting a meeting meant greeting people at the door. Not anymore.
There are more opportunities to practice multitasking than ever. Responding to emails while monitoring a distance learning class; cleaning the house and folding laundry while listening to a webinar; working on a grant application while supervising children who need to brush their teeth and get ready for bed.
Extroverts are learning to be more comfortable being alone. Introverts, who already had this comfort level, may be in physical isolation with extroverts who need greater contact. This new reality has provided everyone with a learning curve.
I have strengthened my belief that education is not about the mechanics of delivering knowledge, but about relationships. Everything in school centers on relationships.
We are all learning to express gratitude in different ways and more often. For the healthcare workers, for the people checking us out at the grocery store, for the person on the trail ahead of us who walks six feet into the bushes to let us pass by safely. In these chance encounters, individuals often make eye contact from six feet away and say thank you. But in a larger sense, we are expressing gratitude that these strangers are okay, acknowledging that there’s a random but mutual interest that brought us to the same location at the same time, that we share a common bond.
The great paradox, of course, is that our requirement to be apart has made us more keenly aware of our common humanity.
Finally, I will never wish for another snow day again, but when we have one, I know we will be better prepared for it than ever before.
