There will be an after.

I’ve been running a lot lately, walking a lot too, because it’s really one of the only things we’re allowed to do in San Francisco right now. I feel such intense gratitude anytime I’m allowed to leave our apartment building, to feel the sun on my face, to remind myself that I have a body that needs to move. 

I feel this weight, a pressure on my chest, that any day that freedom could go away too, and so I must run now before I no longer can. Maybe it’s strange, or pessimistic, or maybe it’s just realistic (apparently Paris has begun limiting residents’ outdoor activities?). On the bright side, I’ve been incredibly consistent with exercise. 

Anyway. Often, on my neighborhood outings, the streets are empty aside from me and a few construction workers. They’ve been doing construction on the edge of our neighborhood, kind of a lot of construction, for a while now. I knew this, had seen the projects, but hadn’t really given much thought to it. 

A few days ago, on a whim, perhaps because my extroverted self is so starved for human interaction, I paused on my run when a friendly construction worker waved at me. From more than ten feet away, I yelled, “What’re you building?” 

He said something about apartments, maybe something about offices. I honestly couldn’t hear him well over all the din, and for all the obvious reasons, I wasn’t about to move closer. But, as I waved at him and continued on my run, I pictured how that part of the street would look, with a building instead of a giant dirt lot. 

It’s silly, and I can’t quite explain it, but that idea gave me so much hope. Someday, maybe, after all of this, there will be an after. And that after might have things like apartment buildings, or friendly conversations with strangers, or other things that my little brain can’t even imagine now. 

There will be an after. We hope.