I jumped on another box the other day, so I’ve officially come full circle.
Back when the pandemic started in Canada in spring, I wrote a little something about how I was doing as a writer in quarantine for “Chronicling the Days,” an initiative of the Quebec Writers’ Federation that asked members to:
“Submit a story – of a single day at this time, because while we’re all living through this time, we know that we’re not all living through it in the same way. To stay connected – to know how we’re getting on.”
Mine started with a bit about box jumping (and box-breaking). So when I jumped on another box the other day (because we’re now an e-commerce world, it seems, and deliveries come in boxes for now), I thought about how far we’ve come as a city, which is both far and not that far at all.
I remembered that Montreal is in another version of lockdown, with restaurant dining rooms closed but most stores still open and our Premier telling us to be moral citizens – meaning visit up to 10 family members and friends from Dec. 24-27, but quarantine a week before and a week after, as though that will prevent outbreaks.
But this time things are different. There’s less fear, for one. I’m not scared to pass people in the streets. I’ve been invited into another person’s house. I’ve stopped sterilizing my door handle religiously. I don’t feel bad for not making it through “Happy Birthday” twice when I wash my hands.
Maybe I’m too blasé about it. I stopped in the grocery store to take a phone call yesterday. I stood in front of the non-organic black grapes at $2.99/lb for a good 15 minutes talking with an elderly gardening friend about the trouble she’s having setting up her new cellphone and how her email isn’t working. Hence the phone call. She had to wish me congratulations for my latest article (“Resto Resilience”) about what Montreal restaurants and chefs are doing to get through this second lockdown.
While we talked, shoppers moved around me with their carts and I only felt a little bad for being in the way. No one asked me to move.
But when I jumped on that box this time, I had company. And that changed the whole situation, because he didn’t enjoy the jumping like I did. He hadn’t experienced the joy of it the first time around, back when box jumping really was the highlight of my day. This time around, I have my climbing gym, I have a little more work, I have a freezer stocked with tempeh (not homemade, because I messed up my last batch) and a refilled canning cupboard.
But I’ll always remember how it felt to jump on that first box, how it felt to look into neighbours’ living rooms and see people together and feel jealous, and how it felt to feel scared.
I’m fortunate now to have a bit more support, but not all people do. Maybe some people are even more lonely. Some aren’t as eternally optimistic as my gardening friend, as joyful and patient, despite her knees, which certainly means she’s not even jumping on boxes!
If you, however, need a little joy – a little glimmer of friendship or love, please reach out to someone. Make soup. Mask-up and walk to the market to chat with a farmer about the carrot crop this year. Take some inspiration from all the restaurant chefs in the city who are making the best of it. Do anything that makes you feel a bit more healthy and sane.
Even if it is a bit counter-intuitive, like jumping on a box.
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