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We are an adaptive species. We can tolerate brief periods of forced sedentariness. A dash of self-delusion helps. We're not grounded, we tell ourselves. We're merely between trips, like the unemployed salesman in between opportunities. We pass the days thumbing though old travel journals and Instagram feeds. We gaze at souvenirs. All this helps. For a while.
我们是适应力强的物种。我们能够忍受短时间无法移动。一点自我催眠是有帮助的。我们告诉自己并没有被禁足，只是处于两次旅程之间，就像失业的销售员只是在等待下一个机会。我们靠翻阅旧旅行日志和滑Instagram动态消磨日子。我们盯着旅游纪念品出神。这些都有帮助，至少一阵子。
The travel industry is hurting. So are travelers. "I dwelled so much on my disappointment that it almost physically hurt," Paris-based journalist Joelle Diderich told me recently, after canceling five trips last spring.
旅游业受到重创，旅人也很痛苦。住在巴黎的记者乔埃乐·迪德里奇，光是去年春天就取消了五个行程，她跟我说：“我一直沉溺于失望当中，几乎连身体都真的痛起来了。”
My friend James Hopkins is a Buddhist living in Kathmandu. You'd think he'd thrive during the lockdown, a sort-of mandatory meditation retreat. For a while he did.我的朋友詹姆斯·霍普金斯是住在尼泊尔加德满都的佛教徒。想象中他在封城期间应该可以怡然自得，就像参加一次不能不去的禅修避静。有一阵子他确实如此。
But during a recent Skype call, James looked haggard and dejected. He was growing restless, he confessed, and longed "for the old 10-countries-a-year schedule." Nothing seemed to help, he told me. "No matter how many candles I lit, or how much incense I burned, and in spite of living in one of the most sacred places in South Asia, I just couldn't change my habits."但是我最近一次跟詹姆斯Skype通话时，他看起来憔悴低落。他坦承自己越来越坐立不安，想念“之前一年跑十个国家的行程表。”他说似乎做什么都无济于事。“不管点多少蜡烛或烧多少香，就算是住在南亚数一数二的神圣地方，我还是改变不了习惯。”
When we ended our call, I felt relieved, my grumpiness validated. It's not me; it's the pandemic. But I also worried. If a Buddhist in Kathmandu is going nuts, what hope do the rest of us stilled souls have?
跟他聊完后，我松了口气，觉得我的躁动不安有理有据：问题不在我，而是疫情。但同时我也感到忧虑。假使连加德满都的佛教徒都快抓狂，我们这些不安于室的凡夫俗子还能有什么希望？
