Life has seemed to have upended itself. A week ago, I was plotting out restaurant dates, packing for a flight to the East Coast and reveling in the triumphant return to my pricey Orangetheory gym. (Ha!) Now my actions—like so many others—are contained within the walls of a small city apartment. COVID-19 has caused a worldwide crisis and its effects are rippling from our healthcare system to our government and into everyday life.
The whiplash of a pandemic is a mind-boggling thing. Bars and restaurants are closed; Stores have been wiped clean of essentials like eggs, hand sanitizer and canned beans. A day at work no longer begins in a cube, but rather my kitchen table. Concerts and yoga classes and even happy hours are being streamed online. Everyone is digging deep in their own way to come to terms with the situation. I am choosing to isolate myself as much as possible to protect others from this invisible, yet deadly, threat that’s transferred by a cough, or a handshake or a hug.
Here in self-quarantine I’m blessed with the double-edged sword of free time. Blame my over-active imagination, but I feel strangely akin to an astronaut who’s been whisked off into space, only to disembark from the spacecraft on carefully timed missions while tethered to a rope. I am cherishing brief escapes to the grocery store or meandering strolls outside, while friends in Italy are required to carry paperwork for polizia to verify.
Im also thinking how life is now like that of a sailor’s, stuck in a deep-sea submarine who is equally as tuned-in, yet paranoid, to the dangers waiting in the murky depths outside. Coronavirus is at the tip of everyone’s tongues. Near constant alerts on my phone have kept me informed of every positive case (and death) from across the world to a few blocks down the street. The intent to be aware and informed becomes more terrifying with every click. After small panic attack, I’ve learned to limit my intake of news and screen time. It’s been a revelation for easing anxiety and stress.
And my deep down, mind also grapples with a shared bit of the boredom and loneliness a researcher in Antartica feels when shuttered inside those frosty barracks, thousands of miles away from friends and family. While I’m no stranger to long-distance relationships, (hi, Mom & Dad!) the toll of what living alone does to your mood and routine and—dare I say—sanity, is more apparent now than ever.
Luckily, everyone is in this same boat/spaceship/submarine/Arctic mission together, so tips and tools to cope are surfacing in every newsfeed and group chat. Let’s keep this going. Even my CEO sent out a company-wide reminder to exercise and shower daily, which I have (mostly) taken to heart.
As we enter into our second week of this new normal, I’m planning to take things day by day and action by action, with as much mindfulness as I can muster. I’m hoping to create more than I intake and lean into this time as a chance to recharge and restart. Facing adversity is essential to growth—and while I know I will make mistakes (read: spend way too much time scrolling on Instagram) I know we all will come out of this stronger and more connected than before.
Briars & Brambles 