We have reached that place where we are slowly inching back to some semblance of normalcy. Life is becoming more “user friendly.” Well, not entirely. We still have to wear masks and keep social distance. Variants are also making mischief. But now that arms have been injected with the golden elixirs: Pfizer, Moderna or J & J, we are suddenly faced with choices. This is both exciting and daunting.
The thing about isolation was exactly that: we were sequestered, a word I have come to embrace this past year. I clung to that word, in fact, as though it were a raft on a choppy sea, a life preserver, a place in which to retreat when the world became dangerous and foreboding. “Sequestered” even had a calming ring of home and hearth with a welcoming association attached to it. “I’m sequestered,” I told friends when they inquired as to my well-being. It slid off my tongue almost poetically.