Outside is scary, but I still miss my friends

The Illinois shelter-in-place order has officially been extended until the end of May. I’m relieved by this because there was no way in hell I was going back to my office May 1. It’s obviously not safe. Coronavirus cases are still growing, though (thankfully) slowing. And yet another month of these same walls?

Honestly, a great big part of me is pretty OK with nesting in one place for a long stretch. After six weeks I’ve finally figured out some new routines so I feel more stable than I did back in March. I self-entertain real well. No kids. A dog that gets me outside and a partner who I can bug when I need human contact. Plus, I don’t have to mentally gear myself up to leave the house - I have to stay home! And I just feel better, hunkered in my fortress that is a second floor apartment. Outside is scary.

I did a much lighter, self-imposed version of this the last couple months I lived in China, when people staring at me and trying to talk to me when I just wanted to chill in the park was too much. Let me be anonymous, please! I only left the apartment to teach classes or get food. But it’s one thing hunkering down because you want to and another because you have to.

And this having to… it is tough. Again, I see how tiny my world is. No restaurants, no shops, no shows. Rare interactions with strangers. I only talk to people I somehow know. That is crazy to think about. Am I forgetting how to be around other humans?! I’m a muddle of mixed feelings.

Working from home. I love working from home. I get to wear leggings. All. The. Time. Six weeks without a commute has been amazing. There’s no rushing out the door, no standing in line in the cold and wind and traffic to get on a public bus. No dealing with the nutty people or the obnoxious assholes who either opt to take a conference call or decide 8:30 a.m. is a good time for a casual chat about what happened at the bar last weekend.

I miss friends and family. We text or do video calls, which is great and I want to have that connection with them. Playing games together online has been wonderful. But there’s always a layer of awkwardness even among good friends in a group chat scenario. I worry about them. How much can you really see when you’re looking through a screen?

I miss my coworkers. My job is pretty solitary in that it requires long stretches of solo time to craft research plans or analyze data. But now that means the people I saw regularly because we shared the same general space, I rarely see. The friendships that were slowly starting to form from a casual chat in the kitchen have been put on hold.

Video calls. I’m finally getting more comfortable with being on camera, but at the same time I’m so over it. This is being “on” in a weirder way than it is in person. And it can be so draining. On the other hand, I love these glimpses into other peoples’ lives, like cats traipsing over a keyboard or kids playing with dinosaurs. A coworker I met via Hangouts apologized for being sweaty because he just spent 30 minutes wailing on a punching bag. Best one-on-one meeting ever.

Travel. As much as I like my nest, I do want to travel and see more of the world. Spring vacation was postponed. And I’m not sure when I can visit family.

Nesting: There’s a handful of things around the house that have been annoying the crap out of me that I’m finally tackling because I see them all the damn time: the grubby shower curtain, the haphazard collection of spices, poorly organized book shelves. But of course the spice rack I finally purchased has a shipping delay until September!

Produce delivery. Opening a box of fresh produce is like Christmas. I was squealing and skipping around the kitchen as I pulled out pineapple! Tomatoes! Broccoli! Grapefruit! Peppers! And more!

Grocery shopping. Despite how much I love colorful fruits and vegetables, I do not miss going to the grocery store regularly. I didn’t mind it before, but now I have to psyche myself up, as I put my mask and gloves on. My battle gear. And low-level worry the next couple weeks if I picked up the virus my one time going into a public place. I do miss getting fresh-baked baguettes regularly.

Cooking. I’ve more patience/interest/mental capacity to figure out what to do with the weird produce that comes in the CSA boxes: ramps (wtf are these!), sweet potatoes, grits. I had deliberately stopped CSA boxes in the past because I was chucking too much veg I didn’t understand how to prepare. Now, I dig into overlooked chapters in cookbooks for recipes. Nothing goes to waste! Must avoid stores as long as possible!

I hope you’re all able to stay safe and healthy and are finding your own grooves, whatever they maybe. And if you can spare a few dollars, donate to help people who are struggling during the pandemic.

How I decide what to wear to work

Since I leave my home almost exclusively to walk my dog, I’ve recalibrated how I think about choosing my outfit for the day.

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Ditching old routines and discovering new ways to tell stories in the time of COVID-19

For the better part of the last nine years I’ve maintained a consistent writing practice: getting up at 6 a.m. to write for a couple hours before going into work. This is the only way I managed to publish essays and a book. When the COVID-19 outbreak surged in the U.S., I was revising a draft of a new essay. I dropped the idea weeks ago. Yet inertia has propelled my groggy body out of bed at the same early hour. (The guilt for not getting up is no joke). But I’m not writing. 

This isn’t writer's block. I’m not staring at my computer and failing to find words. I’m not frustrated. I just. . . don’t want to. Suddenly I have this urge to literally put pencil to paper to draw. Draw! I’m not an artist. I draw for shit. But I dug out my old sketchbook and started doodling. I tend to make the same stuff: sharp, angular tulips and lopsided suns, swirls in margins, dots poked in random patterns across the paper. Over and over. And then there’s lists scribbled in pencil: money I spent at the grocery store, at the CVS. I sketched out some charts to compare numbers.

The particular kind of deep thinking in crafting essays, from ruminating on research and word choice, to combing through memories to weaving narrative threads together, feel so irrelevant now. My mind is consumed with thoughts of washing hands and monitoring my grocery supply. Instead of going into an office, I work from home. I avoid other humans because they really might be diseased. Everything is different. 

In a workshop at a writing conference, the author Lauren Groff gave this advice: “Write toward the heat.” Write about what you feel fired up about, what you can’t stop thinking about. That piece on female sterilization I was pitching? The new essay collection I wanted to outline? I feel no fire. Those ideas belong to another world. 

Still I get up early. A niggling voice reminds me that I carved out time specifically to write. But maybe it’s time to re-evaluate. I’ve suspected for a while that my routines have become a crutch. And not just this one, but other routines in my life too. What am I missing out on or reflexively avoiding or saying “no” to that I shouldn’t?

In the Bowie, Jazz and Unplayable Piano episode of the podcast Cautionary Tales, host Tim Harford talks about the complacency of routines and how over time they can stifle creativity. He tells the story of jazz pianist Keith Jarrett playing an “unplayable” piano at a concert in Koln in the 1970s. He didn’t want to play but went along with it after some expert pleading by teen organizer Vera Brandes. The Koln Concert is now the best selling solo jazz album of all time. The point, Harford makes, is new restrictions can spur creativity and problem solving. The broken parts that made the piano unplayable forced Jarrett to play differently than he ever had. He avoided the tinny upper registers and weak bass and focused on the middle. He stood and pounded on the keys so the audience in the back could hear. The results were breathtaking.

Tremendous restrictions have just been placed on all of us, in every way imaginable. All our routines, our “normal” have been upended by the pandemic. Not just in where we physically can go, but what and how we think. Strategizing about getting groceries, for example, has become a more mentally and emotionally consuming task than ever. However, maybe there is an opportunity for something new and good amidst all the chaos and anxiety and uncertainty? To roll with the restrictions we’ve been given since it is absolutely clear normal does not apply. Could we make something out of all of this?

It’s clear to me now that my meandering doodles are my way of finding a story in this pandemic, even if it’s not in the essay format I’ve used over the last decade. Now is the time to experiment with other forms of narrative, to experiment in general. Stories help us make sense of things. Stories help us find meaning. Stories help us feel in control of what’s happening in our world. And all our worlds’ have been squeezed down to the size of the square footage of our homes. That is where the heat is. 

To echo the advice of my coworker (who originally told me about the unplayable piano episode): figure out how to play the damn piano.

Donate, help, pitch in, do something

Shit is crazy right now because of COVID-19 and a lot of people are struggling because they’re out of work, their work load has been reduced, kids are at home ALL THE TIME, or they're just isolated. Here’s a few things you can do, if you can spare a few bucks or just time.

Consider giving directly to those in need. Activists in Chicago have started a list that connects financially secure folks with those in need of a boost to help pay for groceries, medicine, bills, etc. Info for other states listed here.

The Coronavirus Relief Fund distributes donations to a variety of organizations that provide food, healthcare services, and support to those affected by the pandemic.

Donate masks to healthcare professionals who need them.

Order takeout or delivery from local restaurants. Donate to your local food bank.

Brighten someone’s day by sending postcards to nursing homes and other care communities.

Call/text/message friends and family, even if it’s just to say “hi.”

Getting used to a new normal

My coworkers decided to make Friday “Formal Friday.” Because of COVID-19, we’re under a shelter-in-place order in Chicago, and are all bunked in our homes wearing PJs or sweats (on the bottoms at least - can’t see that part on video calls) every other day. Why not get dolled up for the biweekly breakfast meeting?

Me, I’m like “no thanks.” This is probably very revealing of my core character: a lazy non-joiner. I’ve been just fine in my leggings and grubby sweaters, with no make-up and somewhat clean hair.

But really this is a nice thing my coworkers are doing. In the two weeks since my company switched to a work-from-home policy, the whole office (< 50 people) has been creative in finding ways to connect while we’re all remote. We do shout outs with drinks at the end of the day Friday, kids and pets welcome; in honor of National Puppy Day, we posted a stream of cute pooches to Slack all day long; and there’s weekly trivia just for fun.

These kinds of things have definitely made the transition to working from home easier, though my daily rhythm hasn’t shifted too dramatically. As a child-free introvert, I feel like I’ve been training for quarantine my entire life. The challenge so far has been being home with the dog all day, who has a propensity to explode into a shrill bark if he hears even a whisper in the hallway.

But obviously something has shifted. Even that I have a job that I can do remotely feels like a great privilege as the unemployment rate is spiking. Even those of us who are still working face uncertainty about our jobs and paying our bills.

My emotions oscillate wildly, between relief that I’m safe and healthy, worry for friends and family who still must leave their homes for work, annoyance that I don’t have as much new free time as I hoped under quarantine, general anxiety about the pandemic (no doubt egged on by all the links in the Covid-Convo Slack channel at work) and guilt for feeling stressed because I’m at home all day with a gallon of bleach, toilet paper, and enough canned beans to last for days. 

A few months ago, I had made a year plan with quarterly goals and everything. That’s been obliterated into insignificance. My partner and I were planning a vacation to Joshua Tree at the end of March which we’ve obviously had to postpone. I was excited to attend a tech and design conference that isn’t happening. My planner is loaded with white-out. And I don’t even care that much. Those plans seem irrelevant now that I don’t know when it’ll be safe to hug my friends or see coworkers IRL. My brain is incapable of thinking beyond next week. It’s occupied by stuff like:

• Should I still try to find hand sanitizer or Clorox wipes if 95% of the time I’m only touching surfaces in my own home (the other 5% is accidentally touching my face).

• Talking myself off the ledge that it’s The Virus(!) if I happen to cough.

• Should I finally pluck my eyebrows?

• I hope my moisturizer doesn’t run out soon.

• How can I avoid going to the grocery store as long as possible?

• I didn’t buy enough coffee, did I? 

Despite all this, I’m feeling a general burst of optimism now, in this moment. What I really want to hope is that amidst all this uncertainty and emotional twirling, there will be some silver lining. That this blow-up to our routines will show us something, will illuminate something we couldn’t have seen otherwise, even a small thing.

I know this optimism is fueled in part because I’m financially OK now and healthy and not surrounded by tiny humans who need my attention. But I’m seeing how my coworkers are looking for ways to connect even though we’re all remote, how friends too are checking in with each other and finding ways to do things we would normally do together even when we’re apart, how we’re stepping in to support local businesses and others in need. That counts for something.