A Motorcycle, a Dozen Balconies, and the Art of Social Distancing

I know I am lucky. I have a job for now and can do it remotely. My family is mostly OK. But the crisis is still hard, sometimes very hard. And I have lost something essential. 

I can't do the usual things that clear my mind and lift the weight. I can't play soccer or ultimate frisbee. I can't meet an interesting stranger in a coffee shop or have brunch with friends. I can't go for a walk without feeling anxious. 

I came to Harvard in March as a new fellow at the Kennedy School, the same week the university shut its doors and sent everyone home. My wife and I chose to stay in Massachusetts as we saw the lockdowns coming. I cried, thinking of my parents on the other coast, wondering if I had made a choice to never see them again, wondering if they would die alone, or I would. 

As my mood dropped in the apartment, I waited for the outdoor temperature to rise. When it hit the 40s, I put on layers and layers. I borrowed my wife's motorcycle, a little Honda Rebel that pushes my knees up towards my ears. I rode to forget, to remember and to not be alone. 

A motorcycle is perfect in the time of social distancing. It's easy to stay 6' away from others, with a mask and a face shield, while enjoying the sun and the wind. And it's better because businesses are closed, making traffic very light. Riding through the Boston financial district and along the waterfront was relaxing in a way it could never have been before.

I rode east and west, north and south, on rural roads and through small towns I had not seen in the nine years I lived in Massachusetts. I rode for hours, never stopping.

I discovered a pick-your-own tulip farm. Next year, I thought. I hoped. I looked for magnolias and cherry trees in bloom. I noticed street signs with my family's names and imagined what house I would live in if I lived there.

Another day, I followed the shore and looked out at the sea. Kite surfers colored the sky in a town where outsiders could not park. I came home along the river. I took one last look at a beautiful willow as my light turned green, to capture the image for later.

Riding, I felt less alone. Boys on bicycles asked me to rev my engine. I did and they smiled. A stranger held up a sign to passing traffic, "We can get through this," and gave me a thumbs up.

I extended my arm in greeting to other riders, out and down. They did the same. A silent "hello", "good morning" and "safe riding" passed between strangers. Just seeing people helped. It wasn't only the trees I wanted to remember.

Snow and rain continued through April. On dry days, I met my next door neighbors out in their yard. Last year they built an A-frame that held up a swing and then sheltered an inflatable hot tub. During quarantine, it would be a climbing wall. On my way in or out with the bike, we talked. I looked forward to that as much as to the ride.

Ever since I heard about the Italians' quarantine singing, I had wanted to sing from our balconies too. I wanted to feel our voices as one but I would never have thought of it or asked pre-COVID-19. 

The pandemic has brought a new openness and opportunity. I thought these new friends, a gift of COVID-19, might say yes. They did.

We sing every Saturday night and Tuesdays if it doesn't rain. Emma climbs to the top of the A-frame. Scout dances on their balcony rail. Nine households from three buildings sing and dance together on our separate balconies. Next week, or the week after, I'm hoping for an even dozen. 

Tonight we all watched a movie on a big screen set up in the garden, from our balconies. I expect it will become a regular thing.

I hope you'll find opportunity in these new patterns of our lives. COVID-19 has made many things very, very difficult. But it has also made some good things better and others possible only now. We should find them, to help us get through this, and hold onto them, when this is all over.

Gretchen Greene is a Fellow with Harvard Kennedy School's Belfer Center for Science and International Affairs and a Senior Advisor for The Hastings Center.

Statements and views expressed in this commentary are solely those of the author and do not imply endorsement by Harvard University, the Harvard Kennedy School, or the Belfer Center for Science and International Affairs.