Suomen Soliloquies

Two weeks ago it felt like the world was ending. The numbers from New York, which captured me with their stunning speed and the realization that I had left just before the situation became so much worse, grew rapidly each day. It began to dawn on the US that this was going to change everything. The grocery stores were filled with empty shelves. Empty shelves could only indicate that the world was ending. Until I heard the birds singing . I was on a run in a park when I heard them. They jolted me out of a reverie thinking about the headlines. Pandemic, economy, toilet paper. I looked around at the space around me in the park. The prairie grass expanded around me even in its dormant winter state. I saw the sky, blue with flecks of white clouds drifting above me. Nature is still in business. Even though the news is dire and the world we humans have built seems to be falling apart at the seams, buds are appearing in the trees. I see birds now on the roof through my childhood bedroo

The past week in New York was jarring to say the least. Though the city still makes me overwhelmed by even the smallest of tasks (where do you go to buy a pack of cards??), I have begun to slowly get used to the constant movement of the city and everything that comes with it. The sound of airplanes flying constantly from La Guardia over my apartment doesn't register any more. I can estimate how crowded the train will be based on what time I am leaving my apartment in the morning or TC in the evening. And although the feeling of always needing to do more still raises the specter of anxiety to make everything I do feel inadequate, I've become resigned to its presence to the point that it is part and parcel of the city itself. Solitude is rare in the city, but last week it was the norm All of these things fell apart this week though, one by one, as another phantom seeped into our lives. Starting with an email from our college president that optimistically called off only no