There have been crises greater and diseases more deadly than Covid-19, no doubt. But perhaps never before in human history has a crisis underscored how small our world has become as we all face the same crisis at the same time and, perhaps for the first time in human history, all of civilization has collectively, albeit reluctantly, pressed pause.
Pause … how unexpected that is. The world used to change every few decades. The world I was born into changed every few years. Now it changes every few months, even sometimes every few weeks. The very definition of what it means to be human is moving and shifting faster than ever before. Which is why, in the midst of such dizzying bustle, it’s so bizarre that we’ve simply pressed pause. Like a roller coaster car that abruptly stopped, temporarily broken down, and now here we are stuck on the track, all strapped in and nowhere to go.
And like being stuck on that ride, we know it’s not forever. We know it’s going to restart. But the pause … it’s this pause that is so jarring and so surreal.
I do not make light of it. The whole reason for the pause is that for some of us—hopefully only a very, very few—this will be the last ride. For others this pause means great loss of work or a very real lack of food and shelter. For others it’s a harsh derailing of some cherished goals. And for another very few—ironically often the most outspoken few—the pause is merely a minor inconvenience. But for all of us right now, on this Easter Sunday, this Passover Sunday, this Spring Sunday 2020, life is strangely quiet.
If there are some silver linings I suppose it’s things like the air everywhere is clearer than it’s been in years. Birdsong is a thing we’ve all begun to hear again. Simple things have suddenly become more important. Life has become perhaps a little more transparent. A little more honest. Perhaps.
But beyond these observations I’m not going to suggest a lesson or a moral or a meaning. That would be presumptuous in the extreme and quite frankly when I hear others preaching about the supposed universal meaning of this crisis all I want to do is turn the channel. And in the midst of all the endless commentary I’m almost daily reminded of the words of HL Mencken when he said,
“For every complex problem there is an answer that is clear, and simple, and wrong.”
So where does that leave someone like me, sitting here behind this pulpit shaped like a microphone? All I have to offer you is a friendly voice and a little transparency. Right now i have no answers, but I am asking a question, and I invite you to ask it too …
While I sit here stuck on the track is there anything I’m noticing about this crazy rollercoaster that perhaps I could or should do differently when it all starts again?
That’s it. No judgements. No sermons. Just a question. I get paid to ask those kinds of questions you know. I question the usefulness of the structures we choose to live our within. I question the effect they have on us, and when I find them wanting I design something new. I write a new story. A better story.
I don’t have the answers, but I invite you to join me in asking the questions. Because as it is with homes so it is in life: design matters most. And right now we have an opportunity to question our designs so that when this pause has ended we might, better than ever, build ourselves a beautiful life.