THE OUT OF DOORS: IT'S A THING

The first thing I heard on day two: “Every little thing is gonna be alright.”

The R&B station to which my alarm clock is set never plays Bob Marley. But Marley’s music is what we turn to in times like these.

There’s nothing quite like L.A. after it rains, when the sun pops out, the air is brisk and clear and big fleecy clouds lumber over the horizon. And it was this confluence of climactic conditions that caused Julia and me to pause our indoor isolation and commit to a bracing walk.

People on the way to and from Runyon Canyon gave us a wide berth, as doctors advise, but once we started our uphill walk the vibe was noticeably friendlier.

What surrounded us, as we hiked up a steep, damp stretch of decomposed granite, was people talking about work, and gossiping, and corralling their overexcited dogs and children. All stuff that under prior circumstances I’d have considered ordinary.

But on this day, it all seemed extraordinary. Magical, even.

It was odd, during this time of enforced social isolation, to feel so powerfully connected to a whole bunch of strangers. But it was a reminder that I still love this city, especially after it rains, and I love watching dogs and children scampering up a hillside. And however long my confinement at home, however long I’m deprived of my beloved clubs and bars and restaurants, I will still love it.

I guess what I’m saying is: If you can go outside—weather permitting—you really should. I’ve found no faster way to reset my jangled nerves amid all this uncertainty and ferment. It’s the only thing that makes me feel, however fleetingly, that every little thing is gonna be alright.