The Old World Is Dead
Subway Punches, Needle Jabs, Political Lies, and Why It’s OK to Still Feel Unsettled
Someone punched me the other day in the Clark Street subway station. I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember the last time anyone had hit me in anger. The person who hit me, who was sitting on a platform bench and looked like they were going through some sort of mental-health crisis, turned and punched me in the shoulder as I was leaving the 2 train.
I was on my way to meet a friend whom I had not seen in person since the start of COVID, and did my best to shake off the unpleasant surprise and find the pleasure of seeing a treasured friend for the first time in 15 months. I carried on with my day, but the confluence of events — long-anticipated pleasures and unexpected chaos — feels telling as a symbol of the moment. Here we are, caught somewhere between hope and terror, oscillating between the one and the other, stuck between stations.
I am now fully vaccinated, and tentatively exploring the possibilities of life unfettered by COVID — or at least as unfettered as one can be with two unvaccinated children at home. I went out to dinner in Manhattan with a friend a few weeks ago, and I walked around the Lower East Side like a shameless tourist. I gawked at every new development — check out those new flower boxes on…
