OK, today was huge. I took the leap. I ventured outside, right into the middle of a cluster of vacuous CDC guidelines, and took my dog Cleo for a no-fear walk in the woods. As we baby-stepped into the new global pandemic normal, neither one of us was wearing a mask.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m about as gutless as the next potential COVID host, but I’ve been vaccinated and I’ve been doing my homework. Everything’s gonna be OK. The odds of my getting the virus from another hiker, biker or dog-walker, masked or not, is infinitesimal. A great piece yesterday by Matt Richtel in the NYT was all the impetus I needed. Richtel writes about our collective discomfort level:
It seems that this psychology may come to define the way the pandemic ebbs, revolving less around public dictate than personal comfort after a stark trauma. For many, the jurisdictional battle is internal, with head and heart clashing over the right personal policy.
To me, at least since my mRNA has been running the show, it seemed perfectly logical to head out onto my favorite interurban trails mask-less, when distancing warranted. Up until today I’ve only donned a mask as a courtesy. And I have to believe there are a lot of other hikers sharing the great outdoors doing the same.
Either way, Cleo doesn’t give a shit. It’s like walking a toothy smile whenever she’s on a leash. And now, although I’m no match for the kid’s, mine can safely be on full display.