Playlist No. 7: Inside, Looking Out
It’s a beautiful early spring afternoon. The sun is out - a rare sight amidst all of the overcast days we’ve endured over the past couple of weeks, both literally and metaphorically. I’ve got the window open beside my desk in our home office, and my three kids are playing in the backyard. I could write about what a lovely sound it is to hear them laughing and getting along, to paint an idyllic scene, but, really, they’re fighting about who knows what and probably driving our neighbors crazy. In truth, what’s going on below me is entirely commonplace. It feels remarkably normal. That’s something I know we are all craving now more than we may have ever thought possible. And as much as the sound of arguing and tears might have chewed at my nerves on a different day, as I look out beyond the fence and scan the empty sidewalks of our normally bustling neighborhood, it hits me suddenly and somewhat forcefully just how blessed I am to have this view, at this moment, with so much pain and uncertainty affecting so many people right now.
The impact of this is immense, far-reaching, and without discrimination. Everyone is feeling it in different ways, some far more than others, whether it be their health, losing a loved one, financial stress, food insecurity, job layoffs, lost business, anxiety about the unknown. We are all trying to balance the immediacy of getting through this as best we can, ready to press the play button on our lives, with looking ahead and planning for what our world will look like when we exit the tunnel. What kind of strength will we have left to resume, or rebuild? I read an opinion piece the other day (I can’t recall where exactly since my brain simply cannot store and sort the sheer volume of information it has seen lately), the message of which was this: during times of crisis, whether local or national in scale, our instinct and our coping mechanism as people is to come together, physically, in our shared spaces, to see and touch and support one another. The cruelty of this current crisis is that it requires exactly the opposite of us, to resist how nature has programmed us to respond, by keeping our distance from one another. I understand the power and benefit of technology - how it has allowed us to remain connected, and I am incredibly thankful that I live in an age where technology is so ubiquitous. It will, however, never replace the power and comfort of being together, in the same room, the same office, sidewalk, park, bar or coffee shop.
As small business founders, we at Medley are doing our very best to understand and adjust to the rapidly evolving circumstances that our partners are facing; to, first and foremost, be there for them in the manner that they may need most. We understand full well how damaging this is going to be for the small businesses of the world, for the nonprofit organizations and social enterprises whose resources are already limited during the best of times, but whose services and advocacy are needed most, right now. We have also been inspired and amazed by the ingenuity, creativity, compassion, and well, humanity that has been on display. People are amazing. We’re seeing it everywhere. But it’s not going to be enough for us to band together and support one another during times of need. We’re going to need to do better, to be better, whenever this pandemic is under control. We need to treat each other differently, to look out for those who need our help and support and advocate for a more caring society. Those three crying kids arguing innocently underneath my window, only somewhat aware of what is happening around them, require it.
In our quest to capture a few moments of normalcy, we put together, and now offer to you, a playlist of songs that speak to some of humanity’s best qualities and which remind us to remain hopeful for the future, in ways that only music can.
We hope you enjoy.
Be well. And if you’re looking for someone to talk to, you know where to find us.