It’s Saturday, again. But this Saturday is different, because it’s the last one in lockdown. Starting Monday, France is beginning the first phase of “déconfinement.” It’s met with some apprehension since the virus is still very much with us, and we still have a pronounced shortage of masks in Paris. I don’t like feeling like the canary in a coal mine, testing to see if it’s safe to go ahead.
And what about the surprise boons of lockdown: the calm, the lower pollution levels, the sense of camaraderie we have now? Will those all evaporate as we reopen? The improved air quality alone has made my life better. I’ve been breathing easier, coughing less, and I didn’t get the annual bronchitis this year. In some ways, Paris is a more livable city now.
Sure, I have missed hanging with friends in cafés, picnicking on the river, but I’ve enjoyed the introspection and tranquility of this forced downtime. Or maybe I just like the lack of FOMO, being able to stay home without guilt. The simple routine of this simpler life. The sense of control lockdown gives over the unpredictable world.
Now we’re being told to step out of our safe zone into the unknown. It’s not life as it was; it’s something else, something new. There is no control over the unpredictability of our lives, no way to know what’s coming. But I guess that’s the way it’s always been.
On today’s bookshelf