The New Normal

I am by an a large a creature of habit.  So, in the midst of the COVID-19 crisis and the importance of social distancing, I have a new routine.  Of course I do.

Each morning I get up early and drive a few blocks to Portland Brew on 12th Avenue.  Thankfully, my neighborhood coffee shop has stayed open, although it's to go only.  As of this weekend, no one is allowed inside.  They pushed the counter up to the door and created a de facto walk-up window, complete with a large piece of plexiglass in a stand on the counter.  The effect is a bit unnerving, to be sure.

In three weeks, Portland Brew has gone from a friendly, open, welcoming coffee shop in the heart of 12South to a walk-up, to go coffee stand where it's difficult to interact with the baristas.  And I'm completely fine with that if not a little sad.  It's a sign of the time and, most importantly, it's not forever.

After I get my latte in a paper cup - the baristas aren't allowed pour it into my thermos - I transfer it into my thermos, throw the paper cup away, and drive a few more blocks down to the residential-retail complex adjacent to Burger Up at the end of 12th Avenue.  There are two comfortable porch chairs outside Ceri Hoover, an upscale purse store that I'd never noticed until recently.  I sit down, pour my thermos of coffee into a mug, and read.  The New Yorker, the New York Times.  Or, now, I write.

The sun rises directly across from me, in the east.  Just how it's peaking over the roof of Epice, a Lebanese bistro that's one of my favorite places to eat in our neighborhood.  If I look slightly to my right, I see White's Mercantile.  And, further to the right, Sevier Park.  I hear the birds chirping happily, lots of them, almost like it's a normal spring Sunday morning.

Except, of course, it's not, as evidenced by the fact that the bus driver who just drove by was wearing a mask.  It's like something out of a science fiction movie.  The new normal.

I miss seeing the regulars in the morning at Portland Brew.  On a typical morning when the world is turning on its axis just so, all of the regulars sit in the same place, including me.  I don't talk to any of them other than to say to smile, nod, or say hello.  Still, we share a common bond, sitting in Portland Brew, laptops open, answering e-mail, reading, or writing.  At least, to me, we do, and I miss it terribly.

For now, though, this will have to do.  A new morning routine for me.  A chance for me to think more deeply than I can at home with all of us on top of each other.  A chance for me to just clear my head.  A chance for me to be overtaken by a sense of gratitude that, for now, my family is healthy and I am healthy.  I chance for me to hope - and maybe even say a silent prayer - that we're all going to survive this and be okay.

I guess, in the end, it's important for me to establish a new routine.  I take comfort in that, probably because it makes me feel like even in a time of such uncertainty - a time of seemingly random sickness and death - I am in control, at least of one aspect of my life.