No doubt about it. There could easily be a suffix for framing an event in time relative to the spring of 2020; BC or AC, before the COVID shut-down or after.

Although most Americans are aware that the infection can still spread (just ask anyone who has planned a wedding), we are past regularly checking morbidity rates.

We have witnessed many cultural changes since this shared experience. More people work at home and buy their groceries without ever having pushed a cart. Many have learned to deal with extra-anxious pets when they leave their house for the whole day.

Although not eradicated, we have learned to live with COVID-19 and have been making choices about returning to some old habits.

Even before COVID, my life revolved around my home. I always spent most days at my standing desk, leaning over my laptop.

I never got in the habit of applying make-up or fussed much with my hair.

But I wore earrings most days. Some pairs were purchased on impulse, supporting artisans at street fairs. Many pairs were gifts that conjured up positive associations.

For someone not very concerned with  fashion, wearing earrings was a way to display a little individuality.

But for months, then years, I didn’t see anyone. I rarely left my home. I never gave much thought to creating a certain look for zoom calls.

I had no reason to poke my lobes with the ends of sterile earring posts in order to anchor settings of small gems in my flesh.

A couple times, I tried to keep the channels open, but that became difficult, painful. I’d start to thread the simple gold posts behind my pearls through the holes in my ears but couldn’t get them all the way through.

The piercings I had since freshman year of college, the openings in my ear lobes, had closed up.

My amber, emerald-cut stones, my colorful Murano glass teardrops and the simple white dangles my sister brought me from her trip to Iceland — I decided that I wanted them to be out in the world again.

I was venturing out of my home more often and welcomed a way to show that I cared about my appearance.

I decided it was time for a Grand Reopening of my piercings.

I started doing research. I didn’t want to get re-pierced at a tattoo parlor. I didn’t want to go to a fancy jewelry store either. I didn’t even know if piercings were still done at department stores.

I found a location for a national “piercing” chain in the De Paul neighborhood, not too far from my home. They boasted having “licensed nurses” perform the procedure.

The operator was very nice. She explained how to keep the area clean and why I should stick to the sterile studs they insert for several weeks. She went on to describe how to introduce different types of earrings over time.

They charged me for the “starter” pair of studs but only charged me for piercing one ear because, it turned out, only one side had closed completely.

As I walked my dog later in the afternoon, the spring day seemed especially beautiful.

The tulip and crocus petals in small front yards stretched out. Outdoor seating was set up at the coffee shop on Manor, ready for business. Young children occupied some of the swings in Ravenswood Park, but there were still swings available.

The world seemed promising, fresh. Hopeful.

There has been a lot of discouraging news lately, reports of incidents where people, fueled on conspiracy theories and grievance politics, shot at innocents who accidentally rang their doorbell or turned their car around in their driveway.

It seems that people have stopped listening to each other, or stopped listening with the intention of hearing. Listening and wearing jewelry because you want to interact with others involves two completely different ear holes, but the underlying truth is the same.

When you open anything — your hand so you can shake someone else’s, a cabinet drawer so you can examine its contents, your ears so you can hear someone’s cries or laughter — it’s no small thing.