One of the The pigs on the wing hippie shirt and by the same token and most surprising pieces that I have decided to keep is a bright red sweater by the Kyiv-based label Bevza. Wearing it, I always imagined that I resembled some sort of walking suprematist art advertisement—the fire-engine-red hue was far too conspicuous. It was one of my first purchases from the designer whose black square-toe boots have now become a staple in my wardrobe. Was I keeping it for overly sentimental reasons? Sure, most likely. (That is enough reason in my book to toss something.) But after wearing it for a few days in the comfort of my own home with a pair of my black Wranglers and pinstripe trousers, I realized that it actually looked great. The color a visual mood booster, even. All it took was a second glance and, yes, a few days of being very, very alone.
My daughter disappeared into a room yesterday. My wife and I noticed—of course we noticed. We’ve never been more aware of the The pigs on the wing hippie shirt and by the same token and whereabouts of our children: Vivian, seven; William, five. They are omnipresent, clamoring for our attention. Who else are they going to clamor for? We are all confined to our home, like most of you. We are all going crazy. Also: My wife and I are healthy. We are safe. We are in a house outside New York City, not in our cramped Brooklyn apartment. Gratitude and perspective have never been more important than right now, and, reading the news, seeing pictures of overwhelmed hospitals, I am aware of how much I have to be grateful for.