Like many of you, here at the beginning of spring (April 2020) I find myself alone more often than I’d like these days. I trust our scientists and epidemiologists when they tell us that physical distancing is the most effective way to slow the movement and ultimate impact of SARS-CoV 2, the virus that causes COVID-19. That’s why I have followed their advice for several weeks – working from home, staying at least six feet away from anyone I might interact with, and only leaving my apartment for absolute essentials (and no, this doesn’t include home improvement projects, alcohol, or elective medical procedures…).

I recognize with humility how fortunate I am to still have a job, to not be ill, to not work in a profession where I have to put myself in harm’s way, and, so far, to not have anyone in my immediately family who is struggling with the disease now claiming the lives of many. It is not lost on me that my current position is a luxury that people across the globe do not have and I, like many of you, believe that I have a responsibility during these circumstances to support other creatures around me (both human and non-human) who are not as fortunate.  

Despite my privilege, I can’t escape one of the widespread consequences of our life in a global pandemic – a sense of loneliness and isolation. After all, I’m still very much a stranger in my new community, arriving less than three months ago. Before our world was unsettled by a dangerous virus, I was just beginning to connect with some of my new co-workers at Furman University. With my living space relatively stable, I was starting to find new places to explore and activities to enjoy on the weekends. It often takes me a bit to get comfortable enough around folks to trust them and begin to form friendships, but there was movement on that front too. Suddenly, all of that has come to a halt.

Thank goodness for technology, which has allowed some form of connection. But there is nothing quite like the physical embrace of a hug from someone you care about. I really miss hugs. Likewise, laughing with someone through a computer doesn’t seem to come with the same kind of buzz of energy you get when you laugh in synch with someone in person. And those non-verbal mechanisms of communication with others – well, let’s just say that video conferencing has reminded me not to take those for granted. Yes, even with these forms of digital connection, as a single person in a new town observing physical distancing, I still feel alone.

I was feeling this loneliness rather intensely about a week and a half ago, then several days into my routine of remote work and self-isolation. I was up early, as I often am, eating some breakfast on the small back porch area of my apartment. As the sun started to peak over the horizon, I was unexpectedly overcome by greetings from friends at an unusually early hour. No, it wasn’t those of the human variety, as you might expect – no video conferences, phone calls, texts, or face-to-face conversations.

First, from the bush below my balcony, was the Carolina Wren with his boisterous teakettle, teakettle, teakettle notes. Then, the Northern Cardinal’s familiar purty, purty, purty echoed from far in the distance. A few moments later, the American Robin joined in, exclaiming proudly to cheer-up, cheerily, cheerily! It wasn’t long before the chorus grew in fullness – the rhythm accentuated by the high-pitched zeee zeees of the Cedar Waxwings floating above, the Tufted Titmouse launching the daily search for Peter, Peter, Peter, the familiar chick-a-dee-dee-dee of the Carolina Chickadee, and the Eastern Towhee reminding us not to forget to drink your teeeee!

I listened for at least 15 minutes to this symphony of sounds – I just couldn’t move. And I cried – not out of sadness, but out of gratefulness for the poignant reminder that I was not alone at all. Friends were all around. My avian companions showed up when I needed them the most, as they have time and time again throughout my life. No matter the season, no matter the place, if you stop and listen, birds remind us that life goes on even in times of trouble and uncertainty, that beauty is available anywhere and everywhere, and that we are not alone.   

Every day since, I rise early to greet my friends on the porch. They haven’t let me down yet. They are punctual and reliant, they serenade in earnest, and then they unassumingly go about their way. Indeed, birds are the perfect antidote when one finds himself alone in springtime.