Three Degrees of Isolation, Two Worlds Out of Synch

Isolation — it’s a strong imprint from childhood, a function of geology and geography. I grew up on the Delmarva Peninsula, which hangs off Pennsylvania. The Chesapeake and Delaware Bays lap it s shores. Their waters stream inland at high tide to infuse and soak the landscape. Further south, the Atlantic Ocean pounds and erodes the beach.

My small hometown sits below the Atlantic Seaboard Fall Line, where most of Delmarva broke off the North American continent continues to crumble away. We had no such thing as bedrock, only silt and aquifers.

I might as well have fallen out of civilization because my family lived south of the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal. Conventional wisdom had declared that progress, enlightenment, and refinement ended on the canal’s north bank. “Downstate” was a boondocks populated by country bumpkins. It was sheer hell being stuck there until I went away to college.

Now I live in Westchester County, a suburb of New York City. But even in this metropolitan area, I have fallen out of the world again. Over one hundred days ago COVID-19 exploded and separated me from the arenas of my life. Until a couple of weeks ago I was functioning in total seclusion, but today I’m straddling three separate degrees of civilization.

Brooklyn Bridge & The East River

Westchester has entered Phase 3 of re-opening the economy — I can have my hair cut! New York City, where I work, is in Phase 2 — some retail, some offices open. But I work for a Phase 4 organization, which means we’ll be in the last group to open up again. So I’m still isolated and working from home.

It’s not all bad. Without a comment into Manhattan, I have gained at least two hours a day to write. These few months, I’ve been more productive than I have in years, maybe since graduate school. I guess I can thank my early isolation conditioning for helping me get through this separation relatively sane.

If you need me in the office, stay to the right. Catch me at home on the left