Pandemic quarantine. Stay home, save lives. Shelter in place. #Alonetogether. Social distancing. Regardless of the words you’re using to describe this period in our lives, I think we can all admit things are pretty weird right now. Given we’re 48 days into this new living arrangement, I’ve had some time on my hands. Mostly I’ve spent it eating snacky snacks and following Steve around the house, but when those options aren’t available it’s been interesting to just observe.
Some days what I see is a pleasant surprise, humans of New York on lockdown in their 70 square ft. apartments cheering on the health care workers keeping their city safe as they commute home. Some simply hoot and holler and others bang pots and pans from their fire escapes, let’s all say a silent prayer for those hundred-year-old structures. Other days, I see unkindness and hate, ignorance and lunacy. What I’ve realized since the pause button was pushed on life last month, is that erratic behavior is to be expected in the face of the overwhelming unknown.
It’s been long enough for me, at least, in this new normal for it to feel kind of normal. Given, right before the pandemic I moved, traveled a lot, and was in a state of flux – I’m finding comfort in the routine of each day. You read about my daily schedule and new dystopian style in my last post, and not much has changed on that front. With nice weather finally gracing us with its presence (one day, last week, currently as I write this it’s sleeting) on weekends we’ve started to plan little projects in the yard. I spend the whole week looking forward to days spent outside with doggo and Steve (where my habit of following him around continues). There were growing pains initially as we adjusted to the new cadence of each day. Nothing like a global pandemic, complete financial shutdown, and a shelter in place order to add a little pressure to a newly moved in couple.
However, regardless of how “well” we’ve settled into this government mandated dormant state, there seems to be a current going through everyone. The energy is restless, it’s neither good nor bad but can be both at once. It’s erratic. I feel it when I FaceTime my family, when I get on the phone with clients, and it gets palpable at the grocery store. If the frequency of this invisible connection is fear, it’s easy to see how the amplitude might be affected by people and places around us.
We see evidence of it everywhere. Insane White House briefings, manic behavior from normal people, finger pointing and blaming, it’s like fight or flight but more nuanced and every. single. day. For me, because I don’t see many people throughout the week, any bizarre behavior from yours truly usually goes unnoticed or is done with an audience of two, Steve and Hudson. I wish I could say they’ve been spared any such performances, but, alas, they have not.
Mostly, I find this frenetic energy showing itself when I’m exasperated or short of breath, tired or upset, or feel out of control (also while working out). Last week during one of Robin Arzón’s exceptionally emotional soliloquies I burst into tears mid-Peloton ride. As in I absolutely lost it while riding a stationary exercise bike. As it was happening, I could feel my throat tense up and begin to hurt like it used to when I tried not to cry as a young child. I gritted my teeth to prevent the tears, but they came anyway. Hudson, hearing my heavy breathing and now agitated sniffles opened his eyes and lifted his head to assess the unfolding situation from his spot on my old couch across the room.
At this point in the ride I was supposed to be mid-climb, slogging up a hill out of the saddle. But I needed a minute. I took a long drink of water from my slightly crushed Poland springs bottle, put my head in the towel that was resting on the handlebars and wiped my face. Robin’s voice continued to coo words of encouragement which only made my heavy sobs worse. She mentioned that we should welcome whatever feelings may come and invited the class to sit back down and recover. I remember thinking how stupid my breakdown was and how much better I felt having had it all at once. As the tears ran down my face, I could feel myself lighten. “Feel whatever you’re feeling” Robin said, followed by her next instruction. Hudson was still staring at me from his post across the room, his head in a slight left tilt as he watched my emotional state ignite and flicker until it lessened to its usual simmer. The tears were over. He seemed satisfied, gave me a quick wink, and lowered his head back to the arm of the couch.
If we are going with the poorly articulated thesis I rambled on about a paragraph ago, in this scenario it appears the sadness and fear we’re all inevitably feeling manifested itself in an outburst while working out. Sounds like a SoulCycle class during a full moon, to be honest. Woof. Well, turns out not all emotional expressions result in a sensible and solo release of tension. In the early days of lockdown, Steve and I found ourselves bickering quite a bit, and little fights would crop up due to myriad reasons, but usually it was a communication breakdown. Simply acknowledging the elephant in the room and talking about it improved the energy of our little world. Food for thought. Speaking of food — I snack a lot and it has to stop, but that topic we’ll save for another day.
I began to realize how universal the feeling must be when I ventured into the wild (left the house). At Wegmans I could feel the collective apprehension of the shoppers around me. Whether it was subconscious, or they did it knowingly, I could see people calibrating their movements and behavior to ensure they kept their distance and gave others space. If one cart length was not upheld between shoppers, the tension in the air would rise. Huffing through an N95 mask sounds like it would be difficult, but the shoppers at Wegmans that day created a symphony of harmonized huffs and puffs, I couldn’t leave fast enough.
It’s give and take in hard times like this, and it’s hard to remember others are hurting when you’re in a fear fit of your own. And no, the grocery stores aren’t riddled with angry pendembots. Those people wearily attempting to judge the distance between you and their cart from behind a mask they can’t breathe in are just doing their best. Having to maintain distance, wear a mask, and fear for your life can take it’s toll, especially when you’re on your last roll of Charmin Ultrasoft.
I won’t go too far down the political path, but I will say the protestors to the stay home order that has most Americans’ on lockdown are especially disappointing. But perhaps the current that continues to motivate strange behavior in all of us is partially to blame. Most of us know what they’re doing is wrong and dangerous, and I’m sure even they know it’s wrong and dangerous. Why would they, too, be wearing masks in their protests? Regardless, I think we can all agree they need to go home and stay there. But they won’t, and it sucks.
Bringing it back to the mean streets of sleepy suburbia where I live with Steve and Hudson, I’ve seen the good side of the current that unites us causing us to act in certain ways. Neighbors helping one another, people walking more and driving less, and doing their part to save lives. And while I hope I fall into that camp more often than tears on my Peloton, yesterday I did not.
I was out walking Hudson; the weather was beautiful. People on our street were out washing cars in their driveways and clearing their yards of winter’s leftover debris. Little kids rode bikes up and down the road, the tires leaving snakelike water stamps on the black top as they turned into the road and back again. I smiled thinking about spring and warmer weather, the smell of mulch and fresh cut grass taking my mind far far away.
Unfortunately, my mulch-scented trance was brought to an end by the sound of an engine revved much too high for a neighborhood side street. Before I could get my bearings, I saw a car fly up and around the slightly blind corner at the end of our street and whip in our direction. Walking against traffic as I always do, I could have high-fived the teenage boy seated in the passenger seat. Instead, and much to my own dismay, I held Hudson tight and screamed “SLOW THE FUCK DOWN, ASSHOLE!”
Some days you’re the windshield, and some days you’re the bug. Last weekend I was neither, thank god. These days were all just trying to navigate a reality we’ve never known before; one it seems we will be living in for quite some time. Maybe, there’s a lesson in each trough and crest the different daily wavelengths bring. Settle in, let it out, and slow the fuck down.
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