It’s OK to admit you might miss the pandemic sometimes. Not everything about it, but a few things. Maybe showing up to work in your pajamas. Or having an excuse to order more take-out. Maybe it’s near-access to the fridge, working diligently on your “COVID-19.” Or FaceTiming someone you love, knowing they’d actually be home and pick up. Health care appointments from the comfort of your couch, especially psychotherapy? More time with kids (OK, maybe not that one). Flexible hours at work, more time to read/cross-stitch/jigsaw puzzle/talk on the phone? A chance to write/paint/meditate….

The pandemic was hell, don’t get me wrong. In lives lost, it was tragic beyond anything we could imagine. Add on inequity, terror, isolation, and mental health fallout, just for starters. I imagine precious few thrived in the pandemic. “Hanging in there,” was ostensibly as good as you could feel during lockdown, and that’s real. I think only couples who liked each other, without kids, did well. Couples who didn’t like each other suffered. Badly. They couldn’t divorce because there were no courts. They couldn’t escape because…. Well, we were trapped at home. But couples who got along? They were in a good groove. Or so they told me (and so I imagined, other people on the planet actually having fun).

I was holed up as a single mom with two testosterone-reeking teen boys, both much bigger than I am—the older, angry because he was trapped away from friends and avoiding going to school on Zoom (this, I admit, made me a tad bit… incensed); the younger, an autistic kid who sometimes can’t communicate and expresses wants and needs by biting, kicking, throwing glass,........

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