About two weeks ago, I found myself seated outdoors among strangers, fellow Elite Yelpers, at a dinner event. As conversations unfolded, I quietly wondered whether gatherings like this would survive the winter. The Omicron variant, first identified in South Africa and detected in Europe, had begun dominating headlines. Even before Omicron entered the picture, we were bracing for another difficult holiday season. Parts of Europe had already reinstated restrictions as COVID cases surged once again.
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| Photo by Adam Nieścioruk on Unsplash |
In the United States, breakthrough infections were becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. According to reporting by the Wall Street Journal, more than 1.89 million cases, at least 72,000 hospitalizations, and 20,000 deaths had occurred among fully vaccinated people this year alone. With fewer than 60 percent of the population fully vaccinated as of November 24, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention was forecasting a rise in deaths by mid-December. It felt reasonable to ask whether we would ever truly feel safe again.
Nearly a year has passed since vaccines first became available to adults. Children five and older are now eligible. Vaccine mandates at the federal, state, and local levels have pushed some who were hesitant to get vaccinated for work. Booster shots are available. At this point, it feels necessary to shift our collective messaging away from the pursuit of herd immunity and toward learning how to live with the virus.
Living with COVID means adjusting rather than retreating. It means boosters for those vaccinated early as immunity wanes. It means sending vaccines to countries where people are waiting but doses remain scarce. It means developing boosters that address emerging variants. It means continuing to wear masks indoors, even when vaccinated, and in crowded outdoor settings. It means hand hygiene, surface sanitation, and thoughtful distancing around those who are vulnerable or unvaccinated. These are not radical lifestyle changes. They are modest, practical measures that allow life to continue. A small price to pay to stay alive.
It may sound cold, but we are already living with the consequences of personal choice. Some have chosen not to be vaccinated for political, religious, ideological, or medical reasons. Vaccine mandates have exposed a deep political fault line, and resistance to them has largely overlapped with the same distrust of science, public institutions, and expertise that defined the Donald Trump era. That overlap matters. The consequences of rejecting public health measures will not stop at COVID. They will likely reappear at the ballot box, influencing who governs and how this country responds to the next crisis.
Political polarization alone makes reaching herd immunity unlikely. Medical experts estimate that a 90 percent vaccination rate would be required, and that threshold feels out of reach. While I wish more people were vaccinated, I no longer expend energy being angry at those who are not. I ask instead whether they have fully considered the consequences of their decision, including death. How do you persuade someone who is willing to risk their own life? How do you argue for the welfare of others when an individual accepts that risk for themselves?
Vaccination was not an easy decision for me. A series of childhood vaccines resulted in surgery to remove a growth in my right arm. I live with severe allergies and cannot tolerate even common medications like Claritin without debilitating side effects. During the pandemic, a former doctor nearly panicked when a routine biopsy caused unexpected changes in my blood cells.
I assumed I would experience side effects from any COVID vaccine, possibly unusual ones, and that recovery could take months or longer. I weighed the risks carefully. COVID posed a greater threat to my life than the vaccine. I chose the Johnson and Johnson Janssen vaccine because it required only a single dose. It was the decision that made the most sense for my body.
Just as I weighed the consequences and made the choice that felt right for me, I assume others have done the same. A different choice does not automatically mean a careless one. We cannot save everyone, and another widespread shutdown would be devastating to the economy, mental health, physical health, and an already strained political climate.
Life must go on with the virus. How it goes, and for how long, will depend on how willing we are to adapt based on what we have learned. To borrow a line often attributed to Charles Darwin, survival belongs not to the strongest or the most intelligent, but to those most responsive to change.
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