I’ve ridden along the lake feeling the strangeness, noticing the people who look away as I approach. Only the occasional person looks at me, and still fewer respond to my smile and greeting. Those who initiate the greeting are a total rarity. We are in a dance of avoidance, and I notice my anger rise when people pass too close, appearing not to see me at all.  It wasn’t like that before. In the early mornings, especially sunny ones, most people would smile and say “Hello,” or call “Beautiful morning!” and we would enjoy a moment of connection. In these times I find the lack of interaction, the challenge to keep a physical distance, surprisingly disturbing.

I get it. I’ve spent years studying trauma, and in recent years Porges’ polyvagal theory has pulled much thinking together. I understand that when we are caught in the dorsal vagal system, that ancient life-preserving mechanism that allows us to become almost invisible, to freeze, or play dead, we cannot also be in the ventral vagal system. That’s the part we use to scan faces, to separate friends from foes, to feel connection. I know that the sympathetic nervous system enables us to mobilize ready to fight or flee in response to fear. So, I understand why people look away these days, few smiles, little real connection, and why I surprise myself with my moments of anger. Being out in the world doesn’t feel too safe for many of us. Even if some of the fears may be a little irrational, or at least somewhat exaggerated, they are there shaping vagal responses. No arguing with that survival mechanism. In myself I feel the anxiety and the lack of connection, note it.

Then I pull up on the three dots marked on the pavement at the stop lights on Lakeshore Boulevard where it crosses with Colbourne Lodge Drive. Those dots and the large sign “Cyclists stop here” tell me what I must do. I stop exactly on the spot that will activate the sensor to get me a light to cross the highway. Even so, when the little illuminated bicycles light up green, just for me, I’m startled at how my nervous system receives this mechanical attention. My body settles, feels the difference. I have been seen and taken account of, even if only by a sensor. No human being saw me, switched that light just for me, for exactly long enough for me to cross those broad eight lanes. I’m giddy with delight and surprised by the strength of my reaction

When I tell the tale, a friend points out that humans did design the system, set it up to register a cyclist’s presence. True, that may well be part of the feeling. but I don’t think that’s the key, I believe it’s simply the power of feeling “seen,” having a need met, that settles me, eases something deep down.

This special crossing is less vital in these times, for I could probably dodge the few cars, find my moment to cross with ease. Yet it is simultaneously more important when people avoid my eye, to be acknowledged, even if only by a mechanized sensor. My nervous system reacts, is soothed and settled, warmed as if a smiling person had stopped the traffic and ushered me across the road in a glorious grand gesture of attention, sweeping cloak, deep bow and all.

I repeat the move most mornings now to feel its power again, marvel at the effect. It’s my new route home that avoids the narrow bridge, for that agitates my nervous system too much now. I’m enjoying this tiny pleasure each morning instead.

I am fascinated by the heightened reality of these times and what they are helping me to see. I’m hoping this Interruption of normal, this intense time, may help others too to learn more about what makes the nervous system settle as is needed to make learning possible for them, and for their students or others they may help to learn.

Perhaps we are like fish who have not seen the water we swim in, but in these vivid times when everything is changed, we might see our “water” sharply in all its dimension, its new colours and textures.

I wonder what new things you are noticing? Have there been surprises for you too?