Over the last few days, my life as I knew it has gradually moved online.Family get-togethers - or 'Cobra meetings' as we've started to call them - take place on Zoom; work meetings play out over WhatsApp and Google Hangouts. Over the weekend, I played virtual charades with family in Galway and Munich, rolled out my mat for an online yoga class and did a piano lesson by way of video call.
Like everyone else, we're rapidly adapting to our new reality, while trying not to lose the plot. We're also slowly coming to terms with the fact that we've been prepping for this for longer than we might realise.
The omnipresent threat of coronavirus has us all thinking about the future and what it might look like, but it's important to think about our past too - even if that past was only a few weeks ago.
Before the Covid-19 outbreak, we all had our own existential anxieties. Nuclear war. Environmental obliteration. The threat of a deadly pandemic. I felt those fears like everyone else, but the one that I felt deepest - the one that made me worry most about the future of humanity - was the fear that we were losing our human connection and retreating into our heads and into our homes.
We were in the midst of another crisis - a crisis of human connection. Workplaces were gradually emptying out as we made the move towards remote working. Those still in the office were shutting out the world around them with noise-cancelling headphones.
Children were so enraptured with screens that they were struggling with the fundamental movement skills of running, catching, throwing and kicking.
Adults were so obsessed with fitness trackers that I no longer feared robots coming to take our jobs. My fear was that we, increasingly machine-like in our behaviour, were becoming the robots. We were finding it difficult to maintain friendships as FOMO gave way to JOMO. And we only phoned people if we had something urgent to convey (anything else felt like an invasion of personal space).
Romance was just as challenging. Dating was almost entirely online with one study finding that 50pc of Tinder users had only ever been on one face-to-face date. In other words, half of the people on dating sites were in relationships with Tamagotchis that occasionally sent nudes.
Face-to-face, eye-to-eye conversation was dying out as our relentless pursuit of efficiency and productivity preferred text-based communication (our latent social phobia didn't help matters).
Online shopping had overtaken bricks-and-mortar retail. Mobile hair and beauty was a growth industry. Online therapy was becoming the new normal.
A number of food delivery services have introduced 'contactless delivery' in recent days, but hasn't food delivery always been contactless to some extent? It's certainly faceless and deeply impersonal.
In many ways, we are perfectly positioned for our new reality. So perfectly positioned, in fact, that I'm beginning to wonder if the instant gratification economy of Netflix, Deliveroo and Peloton has more to do with evolutionary instinct. We have everything we need to self-quarantine quite comfortably and fall deeper into this crisis of connection, but what's truly extraordinary about the last couple of weeks is it feels like we're finally pushing back.
It feels like we've been confronted by the realities of a culture that is screen-to-screen rather than face-to-face, and a world that is largely hands-off. And while we've been slowly and insidiously moving in this direction, it feels like we've arrived abruptly at the end-point of this journey - and we don't like what we see.
Over the last week, I've talked to friends more than I have over the last 10 years. I've reached out to my neighbours. I've stood out on my balcony and befriended the two lads who sometimes look out their window across the street.
I've never felt this scared and yet, remarkably, I've never felt this connected. Covid-19 has ramifications that we aren't able to fully comprehend yet. Maybe we'll retreat further into our homes and our devices, but maybe - hopefully - we'll realise just how much we need human contact and physical connection.
The most cohesive, connected communities have the best chance of winning this war. And it feels like we've finally woken up to that realisation - in more ways than one.