What I don't talk about when I talk about the pandemic

I would not wish a global pandemic on anyone. And yet.

I have been an office coordinator in downtown Minneapolis since summer 2018.

At the risk of sounding tone-deaf, spring 2020's turn of events has changed life for the better.

Before, life was a haze of hoops to jump through and lists to lean into. Up at 6:05 a.m. Home at 6:05 p.m. with no stops. Averaging six hours of sleep a night.

I was somewhat adjusted to the rat race; however, as a byproduct, I had little to no empathy.

Taking the train from St. Paul to Minneapolis. Depending on the particular occupants of the car, the ride would be an assault on one's senses or a lovely beckoning from one city to the other.

Arriving at the office to constant communications: electronic and in-person.

Acknowledging that I had gone from 108 to 127 pounds in two years.

Taking the train from Minneapolis to St. Paul. Depending on the time frame, the ride would be an assault on one's senses more often than not.

In spring 2020, my office emptied quickly with news of the pandemic. My boss and I remained as manager and coordinator, respectively.

The daily train ride became an assault on one's sense of safety. March to April was spent hopping on and off the lines at various points; each passed in a sweet or sour cloud from colorful seatmates. The serenity prayer and an accompanying scowl saved me from being jumped.

In April, I discovered a two-bus route that eliminated the train.

Without a full office's need for constant communications and coverage, I consequently found myself energized — and moving into a state of gratitude.

In winter 2020, my boss asked me to return to the office full-time; "office" was written into my title, after all.

In spring 2021, I have discovered, to my surprise and delight, an ongoing state of gratitude.

Yes, I miss our hybrid model.

Yet, I would miss Minneapolis.

The unromantic early morning views from the St. Paul bus give way to those of the downtown connector. Its views yield to Surdyk's, the post office, and dogs walking their people, all beheld between sips of coffee.

Those sips sustain me until the IDS Center Starbucks, a hop, skip and a jump in spring weather. I happily fault the pandemic in relation to last year's raise; the in-person line has dried up and my bank account has developed enough for a daily cup of coffee and conversation.

Arriving at the office, I turn to the airwaves. Classical MPR adds romantic flair to calls and spreadsheet work; the romance dials up at a siren's wail.

Ascertaining nothing urgent at play in my inbox, I quickly peruse online headlines from this newspaper. I have more empathy because I have more mental capacity.

The day gets going: communications, connecting with my boss, outgoing mail and the old slots in our building.

Upper level of City Center and Candyland: The UPS store, on-and-off busy. Cardigan Donuts, with three holes for $1.21. Candyland, with old-school radio noise and 25 cents' worth of certain candies.

Lower level of City Center and Marshalls: Starbucks, its lights dimmed and doors shut after Target reduced its employee footprint. The walkway between City Center and Marshalls.

The Nicollet Mall Target: Upper level, with candy and clothing were there world enough and time. Lower level, with groceries and coo-worthy baby items were there money enough and time.

Certain routes take me by Government Plaza. There, I pause to survey the courthouse.

Fairly renewed, I return for the last part of the day. Cue, again, communications, connecting, outgoing mail and old slots.

At home, I may push my daily step count and call a friend while doing so.

Acknowledging that I have gone from 127 to 120 pounds in a year.

Am I missing something because hoops and lists have become manageable?

Up at 6:15 a.m. Home at 6:15 p.m. with no stops. Averaging seven and a half hours of sleep a night.

I would not wish a global pandemic on anyone. And yet.