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Before COVID, I would place a phone call and silently think about ending it after a couple of minutes. Let’s get on with it. Too much else to do.

Before COVID, I would take on a household chore and do only the bare minimum (sorry, dear). Deep cleaning would have taken far too long.

Before COVID, reading a book was a sometime thing. Re-reading an old favorite was a never thing. Press of other business, you know.

And before COVID, friendships that required watering and weeding never got either. They got a little, but only a little. Have to run to another meeting. Make another deadline.

But now, in this odd world of New Normal, pressure is massively reduced and excuses ring hollow. 

We are living in a patch of Found Time. Time that can be used to expand our horizons, via Zooms that don’t have to end after exactly 30 minutes.

Time that permits long walks, during which we can cogitate on our own, or really dig into the thoughts of a walk buddy.

Time that gets us a conversation with a long-lost cousin — in my case, a cousin who had been a ghost for more than five years. He turns out to be kind of interesting (even if I used to crush him at basketball when we were teenagers). We will soon return for more.

Time that allows an extended visit to a storage unit, where dust has gathered on old photos and old children’s toys. But dust can be whisked away, and has been. The photos and the toys are back in our lives (and the life of our grandson) once again.

Then there are the smaller things. 

Shampoos that don’t have to be hurried because some command performance looms. 

Breakfasts that can be eaten bite by bite, rather than inhaled. 

Memory Lane excursions with one’s spouse that sometimes last 15 minutes — because they can.

Am I arguing that there’s a silver lining to the pandemic? I would never be quite so Bobby Bright Side. Death, deprivation and danger are everywhere. The proverbial light at the end of the tunnel might not appear for many months.

So, we have a choice. Will we use Found Time to stew in our own juices — to curse the fact that we’re not living the anything-goes existence we enjoyed such a short time ago? Or will we use Found Time to climb new mountains?

I’m going for mountains. 

That means 10 minutes to swab the walls of the shower stall with detergent. I had never previously spent more than about three. 

That means pausing over a turn of phrase in a novel that rings especially true. In the past, I would smirk briefly and keep flipping pages.

That means stopping as I walk through a nearby park and bending over to study a flower. I hadn’t done this since high school biology class — the stamen and the pistil, remember?

But during Found Time, I can let myself be struck by the utter perfection of a wild black-eyed Susan.

Meanwhile, I’m reaching out to the best kinds of friends — the old ones.

I called a high school classmate who lives in South Carolina. His wife was trapped in New York City when the pandemic hit. So, he’s all alone in a big beach house, cooking for himself and junking on movies. 

Before my call, he said he was merely coping. Now, thanks to my encouragement, he has decided to sort through his stash of back-in-the-day photos. He’ll send me the best ones.

I texted with another high school classmate who lives alone, way out on the eastern tip of Long Island. She is scared about many things — her local hospital (tiny and understaffed), her children (packed into close-quarters Manhattan), her corner grocery (running out of all sorts of goods on a regular basis). 

But when I told her that I was always available on the other end of the text chain, she said she hadn’t heard such good news in days.

Then there was the college classmate who somehow appeared on my Facebook feed (in my next life, I will understand algorithms — I certainly don’t understand them in this life).

This guy lived at the other end of our freshman dorm. We weren’t at all close. We have gone in sharply different directions as adults. But when we reminisced about the rotten pizza that we used to buy at the corner joint at 3 a.m., well, 1962 was back, in spades.

Of course, Found Time is not available to everyone. Many of us still need to work. Many more of us are feeling sick, or super-vulnerable. 

Reminiscing about pizza is a luxury that depends on four walls and a full refrigerator. If you don’t have either or both, smiles may be in short supply.

But for those of us who are learning how to breathe a little more deeply and to listen a little more attentively, these weird days are somewhat welcome. 

Wash your hands. Wash them again. Savor the meadow of moments that we suddenly have.

Bob Levey is a national award-winning columnist.