It’s odd then, that the thing I miss most about the time before coronavirus and stay-at-home orders is going to the gym. For 40 years, the gym has been the thread that tied my physical being to my precarious sanity. Murder trials, surgery and personal tragedies have never kept me from the gym for more than two weeks.

So when rabid armed protesters recently stormed state capitals demanding businesses reopen, the stupidest part of me hoped they would succeed and end my months of gym exile.

Two camps, largely paralleling America’s two political parties, have formed since the initial shock of COVID-19’s global rampage. My status as a die-hard Democrat placed me firmly in the “stay at home until it’s safe” faction. And I’ve not been shy about deriding the gun-toting mobs who insisted on standing shoulder to shoulder as they emptied their lungs at governors who are desperately trying to keep their citizens safe.

But as time has worn on, I’ve abandoned what I thought was the moral high ground in camp stay-at-home. New circumstances have convinced me that cities should reopen sooner rather than later.