Permeability of the Heart

"I sat, Andrew Belle's 'When the End Comes' on a loop through ears muffled by the intensity of emotion I was feeling.

There was a bouquet of heart-shaped balloons, hand-written love notes bunched together, a man, a woman, the ocean and an engagement. I almost cried.

As the feelings welled into baby tears that I forcefully choked down, I reflected on the life I sat there peacefully living and the emotional moment I was having intensified tenfold. My heart felt vulnerable and unquenchable—unable to soak up enough of this elixir of human happiness. I wanted to sit in that moment, at least until the feeling dulled, but it didn't." - Monday, February 17, 2020.

Fast forward two months. Thursday, April 16, 2020.

We are in the middle of a global pandemic, the last time I was in the company of another human being (other than my parents) let alone at a beach (do those still exist?) was 29 days ago, and the "elixir of human happiness" I mentioned? Yeah, that elixir now comes in the form of a slim-necked glass bottle plump with a red liquid that most people like to call wine, but I call medicine.

Sitting there watching two strangers getting engaged on that pre-Corona morning in February, I could not have seen this coming. If I had, would I have sat there for a minute longer? Talked to the young couple sitting next to me on the bench who, by the way, were definitely closer than six feet away from me (I mean, personal space much)?

No, probably not.

But...what about post-Corona?

Over the past several weeks, friends and family and even local newscasters have been toying with the idea of a "new normal" that the world will enter into when this unrelenting virus has finally yielded control back to our socially-famished lives. This normal might mean smaller room capacity at restaurants, social gatherings limited to less than 10 people, concerts and festivals postponed indefinitely. But the most "unprecedented" element of this whole thing? No one knows. Not the president, not our governors, not our schools, our jobs, our neighbors or friends, not us. Nothing is set in stone and absolutely anything is possible.

And that's a beautiful thing.

For the first time since maybe the Spanish Flu pandemic of 1918, the entire world has come to a virtual standstill; holding its breath under an industrial grade Hazmat suit and cotton face mask, without an inkling as to when it will be able to breathe normally again. For the first time in 100 years, everyone is united against one common enemy--and that kind of thing has a way of changing people.

If we can come out of this pandemic with a new appreciation for our friends and family, for the privilege of going to work everyday, the coffee date with that cute girl or guy we've been talking to, for the ability to embrace someone in our arms and simply hold them--if we can do that, I believe that this world will be a changed place. I believe that people will be kinder to one another. I believe that mental health will improve. I believe that our world's leaders will have an intimate understanding of what it means to cooperate and listen to each other in times of crisis.

Little did I know, the unbridled, intense vulnerability I was feeling on that seemingly random day in February was my heart, opening itself up in ways that only now could I understand, as I and so many other people around the world deal with the emotional isolation of an event such as this one.

It's the permeability of the heart,

it's love,

that will get us through this.