It’s been 48 days since I last went into work. At least 48 days since I went out over my best friends house for dinner and wine. Over 48 days since I met any of my friends out for drinks. Over 48 days since I spent a Sunday at my parents house or had game night with my sisters. I miss the hours of talking on a park bench under the moon, deep discussions over coffee about monogamy, infidelity, politics, rituals, sleep cycles, dating, evolving friendships, goals, dreams, spirituality, purpose. I miss eye contact, you know the kind that’s so intense it’s tangible. I miss the connection you feel in physical presence, when you’re sharing the same air space. I miss smiling at strangers seated at the bar around me, the mutually shared and respected but separate reasons we are all there: a silent understanding.
I don’t miss routine. I don’t miss looking at schedules. I don’t miss feeling as though I need to be a thousand things to a hundred people. I don’t miss being stretched too thin. I don’t miss the leg and back aches that come with standing for 10+ hours a day. I don’t miss feeling like I have to say yes, have to stay late, have to come in early, have to be happy, excited, enthusiastic, eager. I don’t miss being “on” all the time. I don’t miss feeling so exhausted from constant talk that I have nothing left when I get home. I don’t miss feeling so physically worn that the weekend serves only as recovery time.
My quarantine life has gone through many phases. Hours staring off into space. Days curled up on the couch reading. Drawing the same silhouette for weeks until I mastered it (got bored with it). Doodling with sharpies in a swirly daze. Writing poems and essays. Depression. Anxiety. Wine. Lots of wine. Pot brownies to help me sleep. Panic. Watching my checking account dwindle. Nightmares. FaceTime with friends. Group chats with sisters about our fear over my parents not making it through this fucking virus. Worry. Thankful for a break from work. Anxiety over a break for work (will I lose my clients??). Staying up late. Going to sleep early. Sleeping in. Waking up early. Avoiding grocery stores. Excitement over a full fridge and cabinets. Stocking up on food. Watching my fridge empty out. Waiting for grocery deliveries. Isolating myself in isolation. Avoiding calls and texts. Looking at my phone, does nobody want to talk to me? Endless scrolling. Watching the news. Not watching the news. Long, hot showers.
And finally, working out. For maybe the first time ever I look forward to it. I really push myself: shakey legs, sore triceps, burning abs. I know it makes sense, now there’s actual time to work out, but I think it’s a little deeper than that. I’ve never had a moment in my life where I wasn’t distracted by the “have to’s”. Life has always been about working hard, playing hard, get up early, work out, go to work, eat a healthy dinner, get to bed early. Repeat. I could never really do it. I’m not driven by peer pressure. Falling ill to the sickness of comparison has done nothing but make me feel less than. I’ve never been a morning person but I know people who can wake up at 5 a.m and go to spin class. I envied them but wondered, why am I still not doing it?! I was worried I lacked motivation and self discipline. In reality I never lacked motivation or self discipline. I was always trying to fit into what society made me believe was the way I HAD to do things. To be honest, work exhausted me so badly I couldn’t even fathom adding a workout to my mornings.
Suddenly, a gift. Time. We are constantly being distracted by what we have to do, need to do and should do. It doesn’t leave room for the things we want to do. We have to go here, leave there, drop this somewhere, pick up something, buy these, return those. There are so many conversations we are obligated to have, parties we’re obligated to attend, bodies we’re obligated to whip into shape…like we aren’t the narrators of our own stories. I have often felt helpless in my own life, like I didn’t have the options I wanted or choices I wanted. I’m a hard worker and often find I work myself too hard. It’s my own fault but it’s also what I’ve been conditioned to do. I feel like I am not giving it my all unless I am squeezing in that last client at what should be the end of my day. If I don’t want to cry at the thought of giving another happy greeting or feel too mentally and physically drained to even drive home, did I even work? It’s always been a question of can I do it? And the answer is always well, yes I can. But just because you can doesn’t mean you should.
How sad is it that it took a global pandemic to remember how good it felt to finish a book? And not just the feeling of accomplishment but also the feeling of loss, knowing you’ve read the last word, closed it for the last time. When was the last time I took more than a five minute shower or soaked in a bath? How long has it been since I went a whole day without checking email? Have I ever spent a Saturday out on the deck in the sun with a book, or drawing pad? It took a global pandemic for me to work out for my own pleasure not because I feel pressured by society standards. How sad that I had to lose the freedom of seeing people whenever I want in order to know who I truly want to spend more time with. How sad that now I’m afraid to lose it. I started this quarantine worried, like I was losing my sense of normalcy. Now I’m afraid to lose the quality it brought to my life. How do I make sure I return to the world with an actual sense of balance? How do I make sure I don’t fall into the endless rabbit hole of success, hard work and people pleasing? It feels as though there is no other option. I absolutely cannot go back to that… but I can’t stay here.