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An Open Letter From a Coronavirus Optimist
I know my glass-half-full attitude can be annoying, but panic isn’t the only way to respond
Look, if anyone knows how annoying I am, it’s definitely me: the woman who has never once purchased Purell. Who has never deigned to open the bathroom door with her soggy paper towel. Whose home medical supply remains limited to treatments for hangovers, heavy flows, and the early signs of aging.
And sure, when you asked if I thought it’d be safe for you to hit the gym, I could’ve come up with a more reassuring response than “Just don’t lick the elliptical.”
When I complained about “those bourgeois yuppie assholes hoarding shit,” what I really meant was “I’m mad that my Whole Foods is out of beans.” (I wanted to make The Stew.) (Yes, of course I mean the new one.)
The truth is, I’m worried too. I haven’t mentally prepared for a pandemic—unless you count the remains of a short-lived canning hobby I tried last winter, my disaster rations are in a grim state. (Bergamot marmalade turns out to be disgusting.)
And look, I know it’s easy to get stuck in the all-consuming psychological hellscape of worst-case scenarios. Even for those who aren’t prone to catastrophizing, the rapid spread of COVID-19 might appear to forecast…
