Random Quarantine Thoughts (pt. 2)

Random Quarantine Thoughts (pt. 2)

Masks

For some reason they’re controversial, probably because the CDC reversed course in its recommendations regarding them, saying at first that they weren’t needed and later changing to yes, they will protect others from ourselves. Because, you know…science and data change and so do conclusions. But since wearing them is going to be part of our new reality going forward (note that I didn’t say “new normal?”), they bear some thought. At least for me.

First, they’re not terribly comfortable. They’re itchy and hot and they make it weird to breathe in and make you notice that you might need to pop a breath mint or chew some gum. Second, they make it hard to recognize people. I was wearing mine at the grocery store the other day and saw someone wearing hers. She said, “Hi” to me, so I said, “Hi” back thinking it was a polite greeting, but as I walked away, I realized I knew her. Not well…she’s a teacher of a similar content area at another school and we’re Facebook friends who’ve met in person a handful of times. So I had to double back and confirm that I did know her. We laughed and I realized that wearing masks means we will need to depend on eye and hair recognition in a way we haven’t before. Third, the fashion sense of these will be interesting. I wonder if people will like wearing them more when they have cute ones that match their personalities? And fourth, I was wearing my mask as I picked up our take-out dinner last night. As I walked out, there was a couple waiting in their truck to go in that smiled a greeting at me and I smiled back at them. After all…PEOPLE! But then I realized I was wearing my mask and they couldn’t tell I’d responded. So I said, “You can’t tell, but I just smiled back at you!” And the woman said, “I did know. I could see the smile in your eyes.” So…the eyes have it.  

(And, because these are random thoughts, this topic reminded me of this song from the Top Gun soundtrack )

Can we pull this one out?

Have you ever walked into a class where you were hit with a pop quiz you weren’t really prepared for and as you started it, you thought, “Hmmm..it's tough, but I think I might be able to pull this out.”? Then, as you got further into it, you realized it was harder than you thought and you weren’t really sure which way it might go, after all? 

I kind of feel like we, as a country, were hit with a pop quiz six weeks ago. Maybe not a pop quiz, but a test. Probably the biggest test of our lives. Really, it's the ultimate test of courage. None of us regular people had studied for it (of course scientists and epidemiologists had). And we started out thinking how daunting it seemed, but we were doing it anyway. And we came together in that spirit of sticktoitiveness that makes America great (not the slogan, but for real, actually great). The way our ancestors did in times of world war or as they settled this new country and everyone worked together for the greater good. We knew that by staying in and experiencing some discomfort, we were not only protecting the vulnerable among us, but we were also helping the first responders, the doctors, the nurses, so they could do their jobs. This was our “Greatest Generation” moment. A time for us to look beyond our own needs and think about others.

And at first, most of us did all that. Many businesses learned new ways to conduct business. Teachers learned new ways to teach, children learned new ways to learn, families did things together. Social media feeds were filled with love and sharing and caring. It was like after years of divisiveness, we’d started to come together in this shared experience to fight a common enemy, Covid-19. But then, some started getting restless and stories emerged of politicians who’d said awful things like, “Old people should be willing to die to save the economy.” Never mind that these same politicians ran on a “pro-life” platform. Never mind that we were all coming together. New hashtags started appearing and the president began calling for states to “liberate” even after he himself had released a “phase in” approach to “reopening” states and our country.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. If we can remember why we were doing this and have some patience and perspective, it would go so far.  What we’ve been doing is one of the most selfless acts we’ve ever collectively done.  Is anyone really willing to sacrifice family members so others can go back to the way life used to be? Will life really go back to what it used to be? Do we want that? Can those who say to let the vulnerable, older, or weaker people die pick someone in their own family to let go? I sincerely doubt it.

Suddenly, it feels like that test that was really challenging but we could handle is a test that we, as a country, are failing. But it’s a pretty long test. It's ongoing, and I feel like if we could just take a collective deep breath, we can dig in deep and maybe turn things around to get that passing mark, after all.

"All of us have moments in our lives that test our courage. Taking children into a house with white carpet is one of them." (Erma Bombeck)

Random Quarantine Thoughts (pt. 1)

Random Quarantine Thoughts (pt. 1)

Heavy

I know I’m not alone when I think of this time we’ve been quarantining to say that it’s like this crazy roller coaster of emotions. I wrote about it early on here. One day, it’s all, “This isn’t bad. I have time to do my work and read my book and enjoy my family and cook dinner and go for a walk and play some music and, and, and.” Other days, it’s anxiety central, and you know the best thing to do is try to do some of the healthy stuff you do on the good days and stay off social media and turn off the news for a little while and even reach out to someone to talk (if your anxiety doesn’t stop you from doing that). 

And other days are just heavy. And lonely feeling. And sad. Rightly or wrongly, I keep this website  as an open tab on my computer and check it daily. When the president rarely expresses any kind of compassion for the loss of life during his daily “press briefings,” I shake my head in disbelief. The number goes up by the thousands every single day. Yesterday morning it was just over 45,000. Today it is just under 48,000. Yes, 84,000 have recovered. But that means just under 48,000 families are grieving the loss of someone right this minute due to this virus, even while 84,000 are celebrating recovery. You can be relieved and sad and realistic all at the same time. Loss of life is loss of life. And while just under 48,000 have died from this in two months, that’s just 10,000 less than the number of US soldiers that died in Vietnam, a conflict that lasted almost two decades. And at the same time, there are so many other families struggling and in pain and dealing with loss, too. Cancer, car crashes, families making end of life decisions for loved ones due to old age, families losing loved ones due to addiction, suicide, weather disasters and on and on. We do what we can to manage these feelings of heaviness, but man, these days are definitely the hard ones.

View from my window

I found a group on Facebook this week called “View from My Window” and it's filled with photos taken from all

"View from my window"

around the world of peoples’ views from a window in their homes. These photos are lovely. And captivating. Photos of far off places I’ve not yet visited, some of which I hope to one day. Photos from cities and towns in the US that I’ve never been to and some that I have been to where the scene is familiar or something I've seen in person before.

And as I look at these photos, I realize that from where my temporary work desk is set up in my bedroom, I have spent a good deal of time looking out my own window lately, as well. The edge of our flag waving in spring breezes catches my eye many times during my Zoom classes. The green of the leaves on the trees in our front yard and across the street. The sounds of birds singing or children out for a social distancing morning run with their moms as they head up the street. They all vie for my attention and help distract me with a reminder that there's beauty in our own worlds, too. We’ve lived in our house for 18 years and I think I’ve looked out my bedroom window a handful of times before this.

Fading

Fading fake tattoo.

See my “fake” tattoo? My workout friends and I had these made for photos as part of a “virtual April Fool’s gag,” a gag that had been planned weeks before this began, but it has become a fairly big piece of symbolism for me during our quarantine. It pops into my line of vision while I’m working out at home or other random times during the day. Sometimes, I do a double take when I see it because I forget it’s there, but it makes me happy every time I notice it. It reminds me of: 1) friends I adore that I miss seeing in person so much, 2) the big parts of LBC that I miss, 3) that I have strength and can be strong in the face of hard and scary things.

It’s been just over three weeks since I applied the “tattoo,” and as it’s fading now, that feels fairly symbolic, too. I: 1) worry that so much time away from the things that I love will fade not just in my memory, but will be hard to recover when we start venturing out again, 2) that the good vibes and all the goodness we saw at the beginning of this crisis are starting to fade away, 3) that the divisiveness that is politically motivated and may be advantageous for some, is really incredibly damaging to the rest of us and that the country we grew up knowing and loving is fading away and what can we do to protect it and bring it back? 

"In times of stress, the best thing we can do for each other is to listen with our ears and our hearts and to be assured that our questions are just as important as our answers." (Mr. Rogers)

A New Normal?

This started out as a post about loneliness. Because I can’t imagine that my feelings of loneliness, even in a house full of human beings and never actually being alone as we’re quarantined, are unique to me. Or the crushing sadness I feel for people who are truly alone right now. My mother, a widow, alone, unable to get together with her friends. My friend’s mom, also a widow, also alone. Another friend’s mom, in a nursing home. How do you explain to someone with dementia why no one is coming to visit them anymore? That kind of loneliness is gut wrenching to imagine. Sick people dropped off at a hospital’s emergency room, left alone in the hospital as their loved ones go home to worry. Alone. Missing my own friends so much it feels suffocating at times, but not really knowing how to connect the way I want, so avoiding more than I should. Thinking of kids who are missing their own friends. Yet, I have  no solution and I’m not sure I have anything insightful to say about it other than to acknowledge that I have these feelings and you probably do too and they don’t really feel great.

So instead it became a post about “the new normal.” On the first night of this year (in what feels like another lifetime ago), my husband suffered a heart attack, sudden cardiac arrest and then later had open heart surgery. In the weeks that followed, I was told, “It’ll be okay, you’ll find your new normal.” And I really wasn’t sure what that looked like, but I guess as we developed new habits and routines, we kind of did. And now, just 12 short weeks later, we’re all trying to find “our new normal” in the face of a global pandemic. Characters in books, after going through some major life change, often “find their new normal.” But truthfully? I don’t really want a new normal, I want my old normal back. I want my comfortable normal from December 31st, 2019 or even March 13th, 2020 back. A normal that wasn’t filled with fear or sadness or loneliness. I had it pretty sweet…mostly empty nester learning how to maneuver life with my husband in the “kids done or almost done with college mode.” We would go out to eat, travel a little, laugh a lot, we had routines. But as Mick so eloquently said, “You can’t always get what you want,” and that sure seems to be the case with this. So what is our new normal? What does that even mean? How do we know when we’re there? Do we stay there? Is that it? We fall into new routines. Are the routines and rhythms of a household in isolation really the new normal?

But that’s not even what this post is about. What this post is actually about, or what’s on my mind right now, is this: What happens when we’re done doing what we’re doing right now? So much has changed. And so quickly. We’ve learned new ways to do our jobs. New ways to do school. New ways to connect. New ways to patronize restaurants. New ways to interact with our families. New ways to slow down. New ways to be. New ways to think. We’ve learned that we can get by without so many things. We’ve learned that in the face of scary, challenging stuff, we can have days where we’re productive and things feel, dare I say, “normal,” and we can have days where we feel off and not so productive and we’ve learned that both are okay. We’ve learned that funny memes are sometimes just the thing to get us through hard days and the upside to social media is that it can help us not feel as alone as we might otherwise feel.

But when the stay at home orders are lifted and the pandemic fears have died down, what happens? I mean, after we do the things we've missed, like get a haircut or go for coffee with a friend. Do we go right back to the way things were? Does the hustle and bustle of LBC (Life Before Covid) ramp right back up? This virus has taken so much from so many: loved ones, jobs, health, security, human connection. And at the same time, it’s given much: fear, yes, but also time to think, time with family that felt like it had been lost forever, time to breathe, new ways to connect, time to reflect on what really matters, time to get outside. How do we take the good parts of now and combine them with the good parts of LBC? Do the calls and need for human connection and kindness stick?

Maybe this post is about the “new normal,” after all. Because it seems like the new normal can, no, should, include parts of the old normal. The smell of freshly cut grass on a pretty spring day. A stunning full moon on a clear night. A song on your playlist that makes you smile; or a song that makes you cry. That feels normal. And right. And good. Making dinner. Night, after night, after night (this, is definitely new for me!). Seeing a little girl run through a sprinkler in a bathing suit while holding a polka dotted umbrella and squealing with laughter. Maybe the two normals eventually morph into something that just feels like life is moving forward. Maybe not the way we intended, but still in a forward motion and it becomes this thing that we all experienced and will never forget and that will shape our futures in a way that we really can’t imagine, yet.