The new nothing-but-normal

We hear it everywhere.

“This is the new normal,” people say about this pandemic time. “We need to get used to the new normal.”

No.

We do not have to accept the current situation as the new normal. This time is anything but normal.

Yes, we  need to wear masks to keep ourselves and others safe. We need to limit our interactions and be careful to help limit the spread of this virus. We need to make a hundred decisions in one day that feel different and odd but will help keep us safe.

But I refuse to see this as “normal.” This is temporary. It’s bizarre. It’s uncomfortable. And it’s a bump in the road of life. It is far from normal.

Not being able to greet people with a smile and a handshake or a hug is not normal.

Not being able to be with those we love is not normal.

Not being able to accompany friends in grief is not normal.

Worrying about getting sick or getting others sick at church or the store or the library is not normal.

Wondering whether to send your children back fo school is not normal.

Realizing my baby niece only knows me through a screen is not normal.

We are engaged in a battle against a global pandemic. We are doing all we can to defeat it, to come out on the other side—together. To me, declaring this the “new normal” feels as if we have let the pandemic have the upper hand. It shrugs off the reality of what we are sacrificing in this moment.

I look at my children, who so easily have accepted this different way of life, and I think it’s important to remind them that this will not be forever—and that this is not all right. We will absolutely comply, of course, and we do so generally without complaint.

We will do our part to slow the spread and try to keep people we love healthy. We will not be spending time with cousins and grandparents and friends. We will not be going to school for who knows how long. We will not be going to Mass until we feel safe.

But none of that is normal—and I don’t like to present it that way. It’s a matter of survival. It’s what we have in our toolbox as we face this pandemic. It’s what we are doing for now.

But it is for now and not forever. And it is far from normal.

One day, I know and believe, this time will be a memory. We will look back on the masks and the sheltering at home and the chaos of online learning for elementary schoolers with a sense of freedom and maybe even nostalgia. Even though I will not acknowledge this time is “normal,” I am grateful for every day.

That will be a normal time. We will hug people and smile and be present for and with one another in beautiful ways.

We will see people not just over FaceTime and Zoom but over turkey dinners and crab feasts where we don’t measure how far apart we are sitting. We will visit one another not through storm doors and masks but with nieces and nephews balanced on our laps. We will send children back to school where they can lean over one another’s desks in group projects and climb the jungle gym together. We will crowd into pews again and sing and touch and greet one another with visible smiles.

That will be normal—not the new normal, the forever normal. And it will be absolutely extraordinary.

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