These Brief Shining Moments

“Like a wind crying endlessly through the Universe, Time carries away the names and the deeds of conquerors and commoners alike. And all that we were, all that remains, is in the memories of those who cared we came this way for a brief moment.” - Harlan Ellison

I’m driving down Sherbourne Street in Toronto on a March afternoon with the car windows open, and I’m thinking about the apocalypse. We’re one year into a deadly pandemic and everyone outside is wearing a protective mask. People seem determined to get where they’re going, without fanfare, without smiles or nods. Further on, to my right, a makeshift campground has been erected on a patch of brown grass, and a few banners are flapping in the wind. I can’t make out the messages. A few people are mulling around the tents, guarding their turf. The mood appears to be one of weary resignation. I’m struck by the absence of any joy, happiness or urgency. I pull my car over to send a text message and notice a few graffiti-adorned storefronts that are shuttered. Across the street, a thin, middle-aged man wearing jeans is smoking a cigarette and pacing nervously back and forth, as if he’s waiting for someone. He seems to epitomize the mood on the street: agitated, fearful, and confused. Something tells me that this pocket of Toronto is a microcosm of the entire city during this time. If I had a mental image of what Toronto would look like if the world suddenly ended, this would be it.

 

This is a wonderful city but it’s also a wounded city, fractured by a year of lockdowns and restrictions, hardships and deprivations. Many businesses have closed down, some forever. Covid has taken a devastating toll: Over 100,000 cases of Covid have been reported in TO year over year, and close to three thousand people have died as a result of it. There are reports that Ontario is expected to go into another lockdown soon as infection numbers keep rising.

 

And yet - the lifeblood of this great metropolis still pulses. It’s not visible on sidewalks or street corners. It’s hidden, behind closed doors, in houses, apartments and condos. I’m visiting my son, who turns 27 today. My daughter is there too. Over the course of the evening, we get caught up, drink beer, play trivia on Zoom, and share a meal in a happy and relaxed atmosphere. This reunion with my children is a rare treat, as most of our communication for the past year has been through phone calls, FaceTime or text messages. This visit packs more emotional weight because of our isolation and separation, and because my late wife’s absence is felt more acutely during these family occasions. I drink in each moment like a parched wanderer who’s discovered an oasis and can’t stop slaking his thirst.

 

If the pandemic has taught me anything, it’s that people are the most precious things in our lives. Our relationships with friends, family, colleagues and neighbours provide emotional comfort and joy, they help define us and bring purpose to our lives. During the pandemic, I’ve come to appreciate those relationships more than ever. I feel for those who have had little or no physical contact with others since Covid began and are suffering from loneliness and depression. I feel for the elderly, the homeless and the sick who are on their own, without loved ones to care for them. I feel for young parents who are struggling financially and frontline healthcare workers who are working long hours and feeling burnt out. I feel for those who have lost their jobs and who are struggling with mental health challenges and hanging on by a thread. I feel for those who have lost loved ones to this dreaded virus and have been deprived of bedside vigils. A recent New York Times article talked about people who are so mentally exhausted that they literally spend hours staring at walls, unable to think, work or move. In the media, we hear the outrage, the anger, the fear, the criticisms, the conspiracies and the anxieties that have defined much of the public responses to this massive disruption to our lives. All things considered, I am one of the lucky ones during this pandemic: I work from home and I am grateful for the creative work I do, for my customers, for my good health, for my children, and for my circle of family and friends. Recently, I’ve come to the realization that at the end of our days, it’s not material possessions that give our lives meaning (that’s not to suggest that homes, work, careers, cars, toys, and trinkets can’t give us pleasure.). Rather, it’s the people who loved us along the way, the times we shared with them, and the memories we created. That’s the essence of a well-lived life. Oscar Wilde understood this when he wrote: “Who, being loved, is poor?”

 

The pandemic has reinforced our need to love and be loved. It has underscored our fundamental need to connect deeply with others, whether physically, spiritually or electronically, and it has prompted us to become more introspective, too. Many have taken to re-examining their lives, and have made new discoveries about themselves. Prior to Covid, prolonged soul-searching might have been viewed with a dismissive rolling of the eyes, but not any more. With lockdowns and restrictions, and deprived of social interactions, we are now exploring our inner lives with wide-eyed gusto, pursuing pastimes such as meditation, yoga, cooking, painting, crosswords, photography, journaling and, in some cases, adding them to our daily routines. These new pastimes nourish our souls and provide much enjoyment. As a result of this personal development, a strange phenomenon has occurred: We have learned to slow down, become better listeners, and are more empathetic. Random acts of kindness have broken out in communities across this great land. In June, 2020, a group of 10,000 volunteers in Chatham-Kent raised two million lbs. of food in a single day for local residents in need. Stories about personal and corporate goodwill are commonplace but rarely make the headlines. Our hearts are brimming with gratitude over things we once took for granted, such as clean drinking water, electricity, food, medicine, cars, clothes, healthcare, pets, libraries, the Internet, and the list goes on.

 

Soon the infection numbers will go down, and our lives will resume as before. Many who lived through the pandemic will be shaken by the stresses and traumas that they have encountered. Some will remain angry, cynical and broken by their experiences. Each of us will need to figure out what we’ve learned from our experiences and how to apply that knowledge to improving our lives and the lives of others, or whether we squander this opportunity and blithely go back to our old ways, patterns and habits. The choice is ours.

 

This pandemic may seem like a soul-destroying apocalypse, and for those who are suffering, it is, but it has also been a wake up call for many and has, I believe, shined a light on our better natures, ushered in a world where friendship, gratitude, love, caring, patience, tolerance, kindness and the pursuit of happiness have redefined what it means to be human. It has allowed many of us to examine our lives with greater honesty and to make adjustments where necessary. For when we stop long enough to smell the roses, we discover what a joy it is to be alive, to breathe in the fresh air, to talk to a friend, to help someone in need, to stare with wonder at the beauty of a Coneflower in bloom or a brilliant sunrise at dawn, and appreciate in those fleeting moments how precious life is.