The last time I was on a plane was over two years ago. I flew to England for a conference on aesthetics and health and then spent a week with my brother in London, walking on Hampstead Heath and enjoying the extraordinary theater, shopping and restaurants of that vibrant city. While I was there my brother Paul asked what I thought about this “corona virus” that was in the news, and whether we should be worried. I am embarrassed to admit that I laughed it off as nothing. And that was that. Shortly after returning home the world turned upside down. My brother was sick and I was on the frontline of the pandemic. It seems a lifetime ago. Looking back, while simultaneously looking forward to my first vacation in two years, one that involves getting on a plane, is a sobering process. I want to take stock of everything that happened, but I also want to get on a plane, fly to a sandy warm white beach and forget about it all. Even writing these words, this short paragraph, stills my fingers, catches my breath, increases my heart beat, thinking about the prospect of looking back. So perhaps now is not the time. Perhaps now is the time to think about the future and making it better, sweeter, happier, for what ever bit of time is left on the planet. But don't let me get started on the state of the planet because now I'm going to worry about the climate as well. Fingers crossed there are no tsunami's while I'm sitting on a caribbean beach, resting my brain and warming my soul. I'll keep you posted on how it goes and I'll try not to worry about natural disasters until then. Of course, having escaped covid all these years, it would be just my luck to test positive before my flight. I have two weeks of shifts before I get another swab stuck up my nose. Wish me luck.
