On March 21st, after seven days quarantined, my husband and I took the kids to an open field down the street.
When we sat down in the car, I felt a lack of rush. I thought, "there is no time, so there is no hurry, there is only us going to the field, no time to get there, no time to come back, nobody waiting for us, there's nothing to worry about."
As soon as we left the parking garage, we drove by the USPS mailman. I was shocked to see him working during the quarantine. "USPS works during most hard times," Ricardo said. I glanced at him in awe. The same older man I’ve seen for the past three years dropping letters in my mailbox is now keeping us connected while we surrender indoors. I looked at him straight on the eyes, and with a soar of honor, I waved, hello. I sent him warmth and love; he smiled back and waved. Good-bye!
We continue the journey to the field. The streets were almost empty and very clean. I was feeling a mix of happiness for the sunny day, and anxiety for making a mistake by taking the kids out. But then, two little girls appeared running up the street enjoying the beautiful day. Their mother was behind, carrying a scooter and a backpack. I felt relieved.
I noticed the parking enforcement officers working and the Muni bus operating. I saw a couple crossing the crosswalk eating ice-cream. I felt weirdly good and extremely puzzled. Should we be all inside?
Soon my husband and I started to feel a little lightheaded and sort of misplaced. Like if the openness was too bright and too vast to live in it. We got disoriented in our own neighborhood. It was hard to bare the newness of the world while trying to understand the new feelings rising inside.
Finally, we parked. Again we took time to get off the car. We didn't hurry each other like we always do. We were patient and allowed us time to act. Because of the mini panic attack we experienced, we parked far from the field. We had to walk extra and wait for the crossing signal; it was terrifying, I felt the virus everywhere. I wanted to grab the kids and take them back to the safety of our house. But the green field was right there.
We headed down and settled on a big empty area where we laid our blankets and sat. My husband and our oldest son played soccer, while my youngest and I sat under a bright blue sky. Soon they were coming my way, they were smiling, tired, and happy after the soccer match. Felipe was resting on my lap, covered by a blanket that reads, "Here's my happy place." We were warm and cozy, I was writing. The only thing that occupied my mind at that moment was the phrase, "How lucky am I?"
I felt an air of optimism. I felt living in a beautiful place where there is space to be whole with your loved ones and one with the world. I felt like nature was hosting us in that place, and we were the most fabulous guests. I saw a world where we all care for ourselves, look after our kids, and care about our neighbors' wellbeing. For a minute, I lived in that world; it felt so peaceful to live in love.
On the way back home, we drove by a street and noticed it was closed for repair. We slowed down. People were working, preparing the sewer system for the surge it will endure in the coming weeks.
During my first time out from seven days of quarantine, I saw Heroes on the street. People who are risking their lives to keep our city running, providing us with some normality and comfort. The sewer cleaners, the bus drivers, the ticket police, the USPS mailman, they are all out there, keeping our neighborhood from collapsing and chaos at bay.
We came back home and took off our shoes and jackets, left the toys outside, and jumped right in the shower. Was it wrong to go out? I still don't know. What I know is that I saw hope in the blue sunny sky and a community that's trying to adapt to a new way of life, even before we are ready to do so.
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