“It is appalling how we disuse the body,” the postmodern choreographer and dancer Steve Paxton once said. “Dance reminds us about that. Dance explores some of the physical possibilities; dance refocuses our focusing mind on very basic existence, and time, space, gravity open up to creativity. This seems to me a reminder of nature, of our natures.”

Dance is no longer being shown live on proscenium stages, but its materiality haunts New York City. It might be a friendly ghost. Are the proliferation of dance classes being offered on Instagram a sign that dance might be the kind of medicine our bodies need?

Along with that comes mindfulness, a word that has become too synonymous with self-care. But focusing on the present moment is a necessity. When I’m walking or running — and I’m about to buy a jump rope — I bear witness to a lot of mindlessness.Why is it that the person wearing a mask — practically full ninja, as if about to dispose of radioactive waste — is often the one who heads straight at you? What makes the couple jogging side by side on the Williamsburg Bridge think it’s OK to pass an older man by a matter of inches? What are the runners wearing marathon finisher shirts thinking when they spread across a path for a bro chat, their saliva and sweat misting the air?

Either a new entitled breed has revealed itself, or people are showing how oblivious they are to their bodies in space.

When you walk outside, you are responsible for more than just yourself. We are in this together, and movement has morals and consequences — its own choreographic score, or set of instructions — in this age of the coronavirus.