During this time of isolation and uncertainty I often find myself trapped between two reactions – outright paranoia or blistering anger. Both drive me either to obsessive cleaning – taking a toothbrush to the grout in the shower – or long walks in the woods behind my house where I jump from rock to rock, and stop on the stone bridges to listen to the streams that are finally bubbling again after our long drought. I’ve learned the difference between the songs of the titmouse and the chickadee.

At home I listen to music more profoundly than ever, finding obscure recordings on YouTube. Covid-era favorites are Russian Orthodox chants – baby-faced young choirboys with their angelic voices singing alongside older ones just out of their teens, still innocent, but somewhat shocking with their basso profundo voices. The opera star Jonas Kaufman is luscious to hear and watch, and also Hilary Hahn, violinist extraordinaire, ridiculously perfect and at ease with any concerto.

When I am able to blot out the angry yammering in my head and stop yelling at certain politicians on TV, or railing at other people who I believe are sending us to our doom, I find that the long uninterrupted stretches of quiet and calm that social distancing requires can be a luxury. Try indulging it if you haven’t already. You might come to your senses.