Even before the coronavirus changed the way we live, I was practicing social distancing. Not observing the strict rules we are following now, keeping six feet away from others, but simply shunning places where I might encounter a crowd. I have avoided Times Square on New Year’s Eve, major sporting events, superstar concerts in Central Park, shopping on Black Friday, and the opening days of mega-films like Star Wars and Marvel Superheroes.
After 9/11, many stayed away from large gatherings, fearful of another terrorist bombing. And shootings in schools, shopping centers, movie theaters, even holiday bazaars, made people think twice about placing themselves in a situation that could turn deadly.
My dislike of crowds preceded all of these events. I’m not a germaphobe or claustrophobic, but even as a child I never liked having so many people around me. I think Yogi Berra had it right: “It’s so crowded, nobody goes there anymore.” If a place was crowded, whether a restaurant, theater, or amusement park, I wanted to be someplace else. I never could tolerate standing in line, being jostled by those around me, and, not being tall, having my view blocked by those in front.
Now that I’m older, my dislike of crowds has morphed into a fear. I worry about suffering a fall, being tripped or knocked over, even when trying to navigate a crowded sidewalk on Fifth Avenue. Walking through Penn Station, I freeze when travelers pulling suitcases on wheels cut in front of me. Those commercials on TV where older women are threatened with slippery floors in supermarkets are very real for me and for so many of my friends.
Don’t think that I’m a recluse. Far from it. I love to eat out, enjoy live theater, go to the movies, cheer my team at Yankee Stadium, and prefer shopping in a store (Macy’s flagship at Herald Square is my favorite), rather than buy online. I have to admit that having people stay at least six feet away from me in public places has made me feel safer, not just because of the virus, but also because I worry less about being pushed or tripped. Yet, once our country sees its way out of this pandemic, when we can resume our activities, I hope to do just that.
What has me concerned, however, is that the coronavirus will change people’s attitudes going forward for a very long time. I’m not talking about the large crowded events. At some point, tickets for the Super Bowl will once again be expensive and difficult to buy. There will still be those masses ready to greet the New Year in Times Square. I’m talking about the small venues. A Broadway or Off Broadway theater where you are sitting right next to a stranger, not six feet away. Theaters fought to come back after 9/11. Will they have to fight again? Now that we’re comfortable streaming films in our living room, will we want to sit in a movie theater? Will we see more of these theaters, particularly the small ones that feature independent or foreign films, close? How about the small galleries where so many up and coming artists were discovered? Will they have disappeared? If so, where will those artists now find a platform for their work? The small boutiques where we loved to shop, will they remain closed? Will small restaurants where we had trouble getting a reservation fail to fill seats this time around? I’m thinking of one of our favorite Italian restaurants in the West Village with fewer than 20 seats. Will diners want to be seated that close to one another to enjoy a meal? Especially now that so many have become expert cooks at home. How about the corner deli? Coffee shop? Ethnic grocer?
Right now our focus is on surviving this pandemic. Isolating ourselves and observing social distancing is key. But habits die hard, even new habits borne out of something like this crisis. Once we become accustomed to avoiding contact, what will it take for us to put aside our fears and truly return to normal? Or is that life, the one we lived fully just a short time ago, gone forever?
Top photo: Bigstock
