One thing I didn’t fully acknowledge when these Covid-19 years began is how habit forming they would turn out to be. I write and think about daily practices and habits often, but as my family and I went into lockdown two years ago, I did not fully consider how this necessary but radical shift in how we live, work and interact with others would shape us as individuals and as a society.
With nearly one million lives lost to Covid-19 in the United States, the last two years have been staggering and heart-wrenching. Now, with the widespread availability of effective vaccines, some people are eager to move forward, some feel guilty or unsure about moving forward, and some think it’s still too early and risky to move forward.
Yet across the nation, it feels like things are changing. I don’t expect there to be a Covid victory parade anytime soon, and there is still work to do to fight Covid and prepare for potential future surges in the United States. But many people are returning to activities they have avoided for two years. The majority of American schools are back to in-person instruction. Sports events, concerts and communal gatherings like church services and weddings are also increasingly being held in person. The Times’s David Leonhardt reported earlier this month that U.S. Covid rates have fallen 95 percent since mid-January. Things seem to be going back to — well, I won’t call it a new normal, because we are all tired of that term. But we seem to be at an inflection point.
As we enter a new season, it is wise to take some time to think about the habits and practices we’ve picked up — however intentionally or unintentionally — over the past couple of years.
Many of us have developed habits of isolation and worry. These likely contribute to social crises like rises in murder, overdoses and traffic deaths. They also manifest themselves in more pedestrian ways, like increased loneliness, anxiety, social animosity and fatigue from constant risk calculation.
Yet I suspect most of us have also picked up some good habits and practices that we want to carry with us into the days ahead. Some of these may be related to disease prevention — like diligence about hand washing or wearing masks when traveling. Others may be unexpected gifts that emerged in these hard years that bring health, and even joy, in more holistic ways.
As I reflect on the past two years, I think of (at least) three practices that my family and I have taken up that I hope we continue. First, in the early days of the pandemic, when my family of five abruptly found ourselves crammed into a small house, we developed a practice of having tea around 4:30 each weekday afternoon. With cookies, Earl Grey, juice for the kids and sometimes a shot of bourbon for the adults, we talked about what worked and didn’t work that day. We would ask one another, “Who do you need to apologize to or reconcile with today?”
There were days we felt like sardines — crabby, stressed out, Zoom-depressed sardines. There were days when every single person in the family (except for the 5-month-old) had to say “I’m sorry for …” or “I forgive you” to every other person in the family. I even had to apologize to the baby occasionally for losing my cool over a too-short nap.
This ritual helped our family to take responsibility for the ways we griped at, nipped at or yelled at one another, and to seek forgiveness. We knew that with so much time together in close quarters, if we let small resentments build, they’d soon be towering. So we made time to notice and repent for how we wounded one another, even in small and mundane ways. We would leave the tea feeling more connected, more tender toward one another, more able to offer and receive love, and more able to make it through the day.
As Covid precautions have changed, we have been less intentional about our reconciliation teas. But I hope to carry this practice and intentionality (intentionaliTEA?) with me even into this next normal. We don’t make purposeful time for reconciliation every day now, but I’d like to make it, at least, a weekly rhythm.
Second, a month or two into the pandemic, as it became clear that seeing people outside was a safer way to interact, we began to center our nights on our backyard firepit. We would invite people over and eat meals outside, socially distanced, around the fire. Sometimes we roasted marshmallows or hot dogs. Of course, I’ve hung out around fires before, but never as often as during Covidtide. It is a deeply human and humanizing activity. Our ancestors sat around fires for hundreds of thousands of years, but I had somehow lost this ancient custom.
My personal rediscovery of fire was a delight. I found again and again that something about those flickering flames brought easier connection with others. Sitting around a fire outside — as opposed to meeting in a restaurant, bar or even just inside my house — slowed us all down. The crackle and beauty of staring at a fire actually lowers blood pressure, according to a University of Alabama study. The warmth from the flames gave rise to laughter and vulnerability as smoke rose like incense into the night sky.
Twice in the last few weeks, we’ve had friends over in the evening. We were all fully vaccinated and, according to the C.D.C., it would have been quite safe to eat inside. But it was warm outside, with spring in Texas starting to bloom, so we hung out around the fire, just for the sheer pleasure of it.
Lastly, hiking had long been a favorite family activity, but Covid took it to a new level. With city playgrounds shut down and a longing to be out of the house, we bought a hiking pack to carry our baby with us and hit the trails. We are not hard-core. We have little kids who dawdle and backtrack and sometimes whine. At times it’s too hot. At times it’s too cold. At times we get 20 minutes into a hike and think, We should have just stayed home and watched TV.
But there are days when we leave the trails exhilarated, having seen something extraordinary or beautiful. Once, on a familiar trail, a small flood the week before left a new waterfall behind. Once we came across a natural pool where 100 baby frogs, each one as small as a thumbnail, were gleefully trying out their new legs. And my children swear they found a bigfoot track once. (I cannot confirm this sighting.) It’s always a risk heading out to the trail, which is why I’m glad it’s a habit that we formed. So I hope we keep this up, even now, when it’s more safe to be inside with other people again.
Looking back over the past two years of Covid precautions, what practices, habits or perspectives do you want to keep in the seasons ahead? Let us know in an email to [email protected] (and include your name and where you live), and we may choose some of your responses to feature in next week’s newsletter.
Tish Harrison Warren (@Tish_H_Warren) is a priest in the Anglican Church in North America and author of “Prayer in the Night: For Those Who Work or Watch or Weep.”
