The Distance

Let’s pause for a moment and think about distance.

• The distance from my house to my mom’s apartment: 1,075 miles
• The distance from my house to my brother’s house: 2,428 miles
• From my house to my work: 19 miles
• To Tahoe City: 196 miles
• To Yachats, OR: 575 miles
• The number of steps I walked from Aosta, IT to Siena: 1,230,359
• The number of steps it takes to circle one loop from my kitchen to my living room and back again: 33

When walking a pilgrimage, your entire life is defined by distance. You ponder maps and routes to chart out the best course to take, breaking down the distance day by day, week by week. When you wake up in the morning, one of your first thoughts is always: How many miles am I walking today? When finding shelter under a lone tree in a downpour it’s: How many damn miles left until I reach that damn hostel? At the end of the day you trace your finger over the course you just traversed and then pour yourself a glass of wine to celebrate the distance traveled. 

For the pilgrim, the meaning of distance is constantly changing. Sometimes it’s a thing of accomplishment — I walked 25 miles today — and sometimes it’s a thing of horror — how can I still have fifteen miles to go? Sometimes the questions are small: How many steps to that blue house up ahead? Or: How far should I walk before stopping for my afternoon snack? And sometimes the questions are big: How far have I walked since I started this crazy thing? Or: How much further until I arrive in Rome? 

But as I quickly discovered, walking a pilgrimage, and the distance that entails, isn’t really about miles covered or even how many miles to go. No, it’s always about this step and this moment. Sure, I might pass a sign telling me I only have 312 km left until I reach my final destination, and that moment fills me with joy. But I know that with one misstep, something can happen that seems to negate every step that came before and every one that is supposed to follow, and that once-manageable, carefully-planned-out distance extends to infinity.

On The Way, I learned that in the end, distance is something both tangible and intangible, and this is a lesson that I’m pulling from today. You see, I’m supposed to be in New York City this week for Spring Break (distance: 2,900 miles), a welcome respite after a year of never-ending work, work, work. A friend and I have been planning for months for a week of live theatre, drag queen shows, and delicious food and drink.

And yet, quite obviously, that trip isn’t happening. Like much of the world, the distance of my life has narrowed considerably. California is in quarantine because of Covid 19, with movement restricted only to the essentials: trips to the supermarket and pharmacy, medical care, aid for ailing friends and relatives, quick walks around the block.

As a person prone to wandering, the thought of being bound to a 900 square-foot rectangle for what looks like the next several months is unfathomable. To say that this will make me stir crazy is an understatement. And while I know I come across as an outgoing person, I’m an introvert at my core, someone who enjoys spending much of her life alone. Even so, the thought of weeks, even months, of solitude is a bit overwhelming.

A friend shared a story with me the other day about a French marathoner who ran a half marathon on his balcony. He said the only problem was that “the course was ugly, no atmosphere.” A few weeks ago this might have seemed like satire, like an article I read on The Onion. Today, it feels like the new normal.

The fact is, humans will have to quickly adapt to our new circumstances if we want to survive. We have to figure out a way to move forward, even if moving forward means circling again and again and again on a 7-meter balcony.

I find myself asking, What can I find in the corners of my own little world? It might be grotesque — rotten apples or a loaf of moldy bread in the back of a cupboard. But maybe I’ll unearth a box of photos I forgot I had. Or I’ll paint the bedroom I’ve been meaning to paint for a year and a half. I’ll read that stack of novels that keeps piling up on my nightstand. I’ll finally build to doing full push-ups. I’ll learn to dance “The Carlton.”

It makes me wonder: How many things do we not do when the distance of our world is open wide that we can only discover when the world becomes oh-so-narrow? Maybe we should always approach our lives as if we’re in quarantine.

But for many of us, the distance we’re feeling right now isn’t only about the limitations of our own physical movement. Yes, it sucks to be trapped inside. But the real losses we’re experiencing are the emotional connections we’re missing by not being able to be interact with other humans. During this time of fear and hopelessness, when our impulse is to reach out and connect with loved ones, we are being told to stay inside and create physical distance. How will we maintain our connections — to the world, to each other — when our ability to move has been restricted to our own households?

On Twitter the other day, I saw a post where the writer asked folks who were living alone and on lockdown when their last hug was. I had to stop and really think about it. My last day on campus was March 12, and I certainly didn’t hug anyone that day. The days leading up to the 12th were also a bit unnerving, and while I’d ordinarily greet my friends and colleagues with a hug or fist bump, that week we stayed apart. I remembered that on the 7th I had eaten dinner with two friends and we had hugged hello and goodbye. That’s almost three weeks ago.

Now, on the 25th, the absence of touch in my life is weighty. I suddenly remember that on the 12th, my elbow accidentally bumped into a colleague in the hallway. Is that the last human contact I’ll have for months? An unintentional bump?

There is something about being in physical proximity to other humans that cannot be replaced. But still I’m hopeful that we will find creative ways to connect to help each other get through this extraordinary moment in time. We will have to. 

Sherry Turkle, in her book, Alone Together, talks about how people use social media to maintain a safe distance. She argues that while it might feel like through technology we’re always in touch with others, in reality we’re more isolated than ever. Rather than have real-life, intimate connections through our hundreds — thousands, even hundreds of thousands — of followers, we live our lives essentially in solitude.

And yet now that the world is fast approaching lockdown, that technology is for many of us our sole lifeline to the outside world. Will technology, as flawed as it is, be the thing that saves our humanity?

In the last few days I’ve found myself texting, calling, and having video dates with friends and family around the world. I’ve joined a dance party with 40,000 strangers on Instagram in the middle of my living room. I’ve gone to YouTube to watch Broadway stars perform from their apartments. I’ve read countless posts — on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter — where strangers offer to help others. Using the web of technology, they lift each other up from the shadows.

And all of this makes me feel….better.

The fact is, human beings need other humans; we are who we are because of our connections with others. And when those connections get broken, we find other ways.

This semester I’ve been teaching Desmond Tutu’s book, No Future Without Forgiveness. In it, he talks about how the Truth and Reconciliation Commission came about in South Africa following Apartheid. For him, at the root of the TRC is Ubuntu. He says that the term is hard to translate to Western languages, but that it is fundamentally about seeing the world as interconnected. We exist not because of the self but through the links we have with each other. Tutu says, “A person is a person through other persons…I am human because I belong. I participate. I share.”

For many of us, I understand that this idea might feel a bit foreign. For those of us in the United States, we know that at the heart of the American spirit is the individual and the freedom to do what one wants to do, regardless of its impact on others. I have hope, though, that this moment will remind us that the reverse is actually true: we are bound to one another, and the decisions we make for our selves have consequences for other people’s lives. We are, in the end, responsible for one another.

The distance between us might feel endless at this moment, but we truly are all in this together, and this moment can bring us closer, even if the miles that separate us stretch across countries, continents, and oceans.

Tell me: What you you doing to foster connections during this time?

Sharing is caring...

Facebook

Google

Twitter