I venture out of the house timidly these days, as if I expect a warzone to appear around the corner as I head down the street and out of my neighborhood. Anxiety levels are raised, the silence is deafening, and am I’m slightly getting caught up in all of it. Nothing surprises me these days. Still, I refuse to panic, to give in completely to the pandemic; I vow to go forward.

This change in our culture started a few weeks ago when this scary-sounding virus actually made its way into our suburban bubble. We sat numbly in front of our televisions as first the NBA season was canceled – canceled, not just postponed – quickly followed by all NCAA sports as well, placing committed athletes out of competition, feeling lost and with no purpose. Without THE Tournament taking place all over the country, it gave a whole new meaning to March Madness.

In quick succession, we sat idly by as our students’ education was interrupted at all levels of learning, yanking them home from study-abroad programs and suddenly creating and teaching on-line classes. Next, Broadway went dark, San Francisco went into hiding, Canada closed their borders, and then the unthinkable – toilet paper disappeared entirely.

During the first week when the “world as we know it” came to a halt, I started stock-piling like everyone else. I felt silly, confused, yet hopeful this madness was for nothing. Still, I made several BIG trips to the grocery store because each time I returned home, I heard a new rumor of what might be scarce on the shelves and how we might be limited in our opportunity to get to the store, assuming they even stayed open.

During the second week of our semi self-imposed quarantine, the frenzy level amped up a bit. More shoppers in the stores, more chaos in the aisles and the check-out lines, and less of everything else – cleaning supplies, chicken, milk, and the above-mentioned toilet paper.

As the days of isolation dragged on, we suffered more cancellations and closings. Little by little we watched more sources of entertainment, fitness, and travel shutdown or slowdown. Overnight, it became a different world.

So, what exactly is the new norm? What are we to expect day-to-day when you go to bed watching the Olympic torch being passed in an empty stadium only to wake up to find out the Olympics could in fact been postponed?

A scene out of the recent Hulu show A Handmaid’s Tale? Maybe I’ve seen too many dystopian movies.

Is the new norm the anxiety-riddled woman in the grocery store who just had to be first in every line simultaneously, giving me a harried look as she reclaimed her spot in the deli line after also securing the first spot in the bakery line as well?

Is it the man behind me at the pharmacy wearing both a mask and a plexiglass face visor while holding three packs of sacred toilet paper only to be told he was limited to one package? (If we’re being honest, I couldn’t help but stare.)

Is it me, spying a box of first aid vinyl gloves next to the cash register at the pharmacy, asking if indeed they are for sale, fearing the answer will be no, then spontaneously purchasing them because I don’t want to miss out on them the way I neglected to by hand-sanitizer?

Maybe it is all those things and more.

For starters, the New Normal consists of calendars cleared of appointments. No haggard faces due to overscheduling and cramming in a plethora of appointments during the week. Now we have time. Nothing but good, old-fashioned time.

How to replace those empty spaces on our calendars? What to do with that time? We can’t go to the movies with friends or out to eat with our family, so we find ourselves being creative. And this is what starts to happen in turn…

People are outside. Soaking up the fresh air. Being alive in the great outdoors. Neighbors walking their dogs in packs, watching the slowed-down house construction projects on our streets, chatting about recommendations for new shows to watch, anticipating the next happy hour and when it will start.

It is the kids, home from school and void of after-school activities and friends and structure. These energy-filled youngsters are once again playing outside, riding their bikes, shooting baskets in their driveways, engaging in a family game of capture the flag, and showering the neighborhood with their uninhibited laughter and shouts.

Oh, and the strollers. The strollers abound! New neighbors, young neighbors, neighbors I’ve never even met before all pushing strollers. Little bundles of joy, smiling behind their mouthful of binkies, oohing over all the dogs, or simply napping peacefully in the fresh air. The neighborhood is alive and well, and it is encouraging. We are not in total despair nor are we alone.

Yes, some parts of the New Normal are stressful, but we are already used to terms like social distancing and customs such as elbow-bumping (I’m a hugger, so I might not ever get used to that!).  

But there are other parts of the New Normal which offer hope as now is a time of discovering forgotten past times and creating new moments. We have proven as a society that we need people in our lives, we want that connection, even if it is only allowed six-feet-apart.

As one neighbor said to me today after we acknowledged the beauty of the day, “This is the place to be.”

Indeed.