The safety I once perceived was because I did not have the complete perspective.
© Valeriya Simantovskaya/Stocksy United
“Your breath is always with you.”
—common meditation prompt
Remember when we used to breathe all over each other? Pre-pandemic, we crowded behind each other in the grocery line, chit-chatted before meetings, or sat next to each other in church. Most of the time our facial expressions included the whole face, and the sounds of our voices were unobstructed by fabric. My unrestricted exhales didn’t put me out of right relationship with those around me.
The virus changed how we understood the consequences of breathing. I used to breathe without thinking. If I was breathing mindfully, it was in the context of meditation or yoga. Breath was life force, or a tool of centering oneself. Now we know: the way we take up space includes where our breath goes.
But breath is also a vector of illness. With well over 700,000 Americans deceased, and many in my community, I could not ignore the potential power I had to spread illness. I didn’t like how something so fundamental to my being could cause harm. I also couldn’t deny it.
Masking up became so normal, I felt naked in public without it. I learned to cross the street whenever I saw anyone on the sidewalk. I chose to forego unneeded interpersonal interaction. It’s been a lonely year. My own understanding of personal space aligned with the collective revision to six feet. Even after receiving the vaccine and the requisite time elapsing to immunity, my instincts to avoid other people are still very sharp. I could still harm.
I miss the innocence about how we existed in each other’s presence. I miss the ease and lack of caution. What I understood to be true—the safety I perceived—was because I did not have the complete perspective.
Committing to right relationship means being willing to revise our practices when we learn that previously accepted habits might be harmful. It’s true of the language we use and the ways we practice power. Now we know: the way we steward our breath matters. I will leave the pandemic with a better understanding of how to protect those around me from illness. May I recognize this awareness as a gift and use it to express care for the people around me.
May we embrace new understandings of how to be in right relationship to each other, even if we don’t like what we learn.
Please note: newsletter on hiatus
Christine Slocum (she/her) is a UU whose work facilitates housing for people experiencing homelessness and severe mental illness. She lives in the city of Buffalo with her husband and two children.