A Change in Perspective: New Jersey from Above

High above Fair Lawn, NJ, on March 2, before the proverbial flood

It's stunning how perspectives have changed over the past few days.

Here, for example, is NewYorker TV critic Emily Nussbaum yesterday on Twitter:

I am particularly haunted by recent views of my home state from drones above nearly deserted places, such as Jersey City:



Paterson and Newark:

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These normally busy downtowns are very quiet and empty lately as New Jerseyans stay at home to #flattenthecurve of coronavirus spread in the Garden State. Credit: @tariqzehawi and @danielleparhiz for NorthJersey.com. #northjerseynews

A post shared by NorthJersey.com & The Record (@northjerseynews) on Mar 28, 2020 at 7:01am PDT

Hoboken:



And Montclair:



Even more disconcerting, here's a March 20 video from NBC News showing the long line of cars waiting at a drive-through coronavirus testing area in Paramus:




These God's-eye views of my home state are reminders that life is at once more complex, absurd... and sometimes inspiring... than what we can immediately understand from our own, limited perspective.

How is it absurd? Turning to social media for some connection, my experience has been mixed.

First, I read a thread from Fr. Jim Chern, the Newark Archdiocese's director of Campus Ministry and chaplain at Montclair State University. I know him as thoughtful and devout, with a great sense of humor. Recently attacked by trolls, he felt compelled to respond: "My exposure to 'Catholic Twitter' is, as it turns out, thankfully limited. Kind of stunned at the judgmental and harsh tone: I was accused of abandoning our people because we've been ordered not to publicly celebrate sacraments. It was below the belt, untrue and uncharitable."

Then I joined a Twitter chat about "how to be professional on Twitter during a crisis." One of the guest expert's first posts was this:

"That's it," I exclaimed to no one. "I'm out!"

I drove to Mom's house to deliver some supplies.

The local nursing home; Borough Hall; graffiti along Route 80

Normally a 25-minute drive to Totowa, it took 20 minutes in sparse traffic. It would have taken even less time, but several local streets were blocked by landscaping crews hard at work -- as if Gatsby had dispatched a legion of gardeners to prepare our modest town for a lavish "it was only a bad dream" party.

On the highway, the cars on Route 80 were overly aggressive or overly cautious -- as if caught in an imaginary snowstorm. Mask-wearing drivers were filled with bravado, nerves or fear.

On the return trip through Paterson, I noticed the new graffiti on one of the highway's sound barriers. It's a rendering of the word "CORONAVIRUS."

Back home, my grown daughter asked if we could go for a walk. Some exercise; some diversion.

It was dusk, and our surroundings humbled us. Church doors were locked. The large American flag had been lowered to half-staff in front of Borough Hall; in back, lights were ablaze to discourage teens from gathering in empty playgrounds and ball fields.

Everything had subtly changed, except that the liquor store was still open. Then an ambulance approached the local nursing home, where the virus had already caused at least five deaths.

The ambulance arrived with lights flashing, but no sirens. My daughter explained to me that this likely meant someone else had died.

We walked on in silence after that. We didn't know what to say.

Churches closed; liquor stores open

Later, my daughter and I watched an on-demand movie, "The Invisible Man." It was a makeshift "movie night" like the ones we used to have when she was a little girl. As we watched, she discovered on her iPad that the movie was based on a book, and I explained to her about H.G. Wells.

Before going to sleep Saturday night, I returned to social media on my own iPad to check on the health and safety of family and friends on Facebook and Instagram. I've been happy to see their faces, and the faces of coworkers, on recent video chats.

I woke up and read The New York Times with over 100 others by logging in to the "readalong" hosted every Sunday morning by Sree Sreenivasan. His engaging guest was the author Harlan Coben, and you can view a replay here.

So, in fairness to social media, I have in fact found some comfort there.

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I wonder, after all, what the God's eye view of my family is really like.

Perhaps it's a view from above of two people walking down River Road in New Milford, NJ, before dusk: a dad and his daughter.

There's no way to tell, from such a distance, how grateful and lucky we are. How much we love each other. Or how our journey will end.

After a while, the drone would simply move on, and the perspective changes again.

We too become invisible.

April 3, 2020 - video here