It Is Already Getting To Me
Earlier this month I was looking out the window at the beautiful spring day outside and I said to Kevin, "Exactly thirty-five years ago this week I was in Italy for the first time."
He said, "And...?"
And nothing. There was no purpose to my saying that. It was only a statement of longing. There was a time when I could travel across oceans and enjoy a beautiful spring day in my favorite foreign country.
Then I thought about other jaunts I took during the month of April. Two years ago we went to Maui. Three years ago we went to Amsterdam. I remembered what it was like to stare out the window of my hotel room at the Hoxton, looking through the budding trees to the canal below. I thought of snorkeling at Molokini Crater and how beautiful it was beneath the surface of the water that I wanted to grow gills and stay there. All of it is in the past.
If I didn't feel bad enough, last night after watching the news and scrolling through his Facebook feed, Kevin declared, "There is a 25% chance we will make it to Chincoteague this year."
Going to Chincoteague in the summer isn't a special treat or a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity as the other trips were. It has always been a given. It's not merely a vacation for us. It's like a second home. When I don't go there in the summer, it feels like I had a limb cut off - even when I don't go due to having free and fabulous alternatives. It's the one activity I feel I have left to look forward to and I am going to miss it. I'm am not sure I can handle the idea of such a low probability of returning there this summer with no alternatives.
The company I work for doesn’t only provide research for the energy industry (which is my field). It covers multiple verticals, including healthcare. I have access to the opinions of topnotch epidemiologists. Their predictions are grim. We have at least two months to go before we are on the other side of the curve.
Sometimes it feels like the epidemiologists at GlobalData are the optimistic ones. The issue goes beyond a drop in new infections. We have to prevent a new surge. I turn on the TV and hear people like Dr. Fauci tell us we won't be out of danger until a new vaccine is developed. That could take more than a year. What will that year look like for us? Do we all have to stay quarantined until this vaccine is available?
I think of everything I had planned for this year. I have a landmark birthday coming this summer. I wanted the celebration to last for the whole year. I hoped to take some "staycation" days and persuade some friends to join me. I had all kinds of ideas for local outings. I would explore all the museums in the city I never visited. I would explore all the local sites in the Hudson Valley on my to-do list. I wanted to have family dinners at my favorite restaurants. I wanted to buy myself a new car. I wanted to take another overseas trip. I had some tentative plans for some weekend jaunts with my friends to some of my US bucket list destinations. I intended to welcome in my second half of a century with a bang. Right now it looks like my birthday celebration will be dinner at my apartment with Kevin we ordered from the fanciest restaurant that delivers on Seamless. I'm sure my parents will call me.
Last night I had a dream one of my dearest out-of-town friends was planning a visit and we discussed where we would have lunch when she arrived. I woke up depressed knowing this wasn't going to happen. I rarely see some of my best friends in the best of times and social isolation has made seeing them impossible.
As I hit the one-month mark of staying isolated at home, I am feeling not only the loss of hope for enjoying the future, but I'm also feeling down about the here and now.
Today I went out on my balcony and looked at all the dead plants in my window boxes and pots. My balcony is the one way I can get outside and not have to worry about social distancing. On a warm day I love to be out there in my "garden" full of flowers. I love to sit out there with a morning beverage or with a glass of wine on a summer evening. It's not the same when everything is dead. I wonder if I will ever be able to replace the plants. I have some thyme, sage, and mint that is coming back from last year (an advantage of the warm winter), but I have four pots and four window boxes with nothing growing in them. Nurseries are shut down. What can I plant? My local supermarket has some sad-looking flowers and a few herbs for sale, but many of the flowers are ones that require full sun and my balcony only gets full sun for a few hours in the morning.
Speaking of going to the local supermarket, I hate that it's the only place to food shop. I miss the farmers' market. In the summer I buy almost all of my groceries there. I love the beautiful abundance of a farmers' market on a summer day. I feel less guilty eating meat when I am buying pastured animals directly from the farmers. I miss chatting with the farmers. I miss petting all the dogs that come to the market. I miss the fresh baked goods and jams and cheeses. When I go to the supermarket I know nothing about where my food comes from and the variety is worse every week. Socializing of any kind is impossible.
Let's talk about other types of shopping. In the past two months so many clothing websites have been selling merchandise at attractive discounts. I took advantage of that. I thought it would be useful to have some pretty new clothes for work once the warm weather arrives. Even after the lockdown, I was optimistic enough to believe I would wear them before the season was over. Now I worry I won't be wearing them until next summer. The only item of clothing I bought that is suitable for wearing around the house is a pair of jeans. Some of those clothes haven't even been unpacked from their bags and boxes. It would be too depressing to see stuff hanging in my closet that reminds me of going out of the house on a warm spring or summer day, caring about how I look because my face isn't covered with a mask.
There is so much more I miss.
I miss my dance class. I still practice my tap routines even though I doubt we will be having our recital this year. I can't wear tap shoes in my apartment though, so it's not the same experience. Who knows if I can return to class before the season is over?
I miss the theater. Every play I was considering auditioning for this spring was canceled. Sometimes I turn on YouTube karaoke videos and sing as a substitute. I have considered recording them and putting them here or putting them on Facebook just so I can have some semblance of performing. It's not as much fun as performing for a live audience. I also don't get the experience of rehearsing and the joy of working together with the cast to get the show on its feet.
Most of all I miss my horses. That was my main way of getting outside every weekend. I want to drive through the countryside. I want to be at the barn. I want to get dirty with a purpose. I want to connect with my two-legged and four-legged friends. I want to feel a horse move beneath me, responding to my commands, and making me feel like I'm flying.
Like so many other people at the beginning of this isolation, I thought I might accomplish so much more at home. I was going to read more books, find time for meditation, do some serious housecleaning, and write twice as many blog posts. I lost momentum for that pretty quickly. When I'm not working I tend to move mindlessly from activity to activity. I may be motivated for a little while to clean or work out (and yes, I do still work out) or read or write, but I always seem to end up on the couch watching TV or browsing Facebook. I accomplish far less in a day than I intend to. I feel as if I have all the time in the world to get things done, so I have no real impetus to start new projects. It's easy to procrastinate.
I'm tired of living my life in these five rooms. I wonder if my inability to stick to any given task is due to my searching for something novel. I keep changing what I'm doing with the hope that it will somehow feel different or make being at home less tedious. I watch TV because it's a window to the outside world. I hang out on Facebook because it's the only way I can connect with a large number of people.
I know I should be grateful. I have a home with no rent or mortgage to pay. I have a job (even if Kevin still doesn't). I am putting food on the table. My family is a phone call away and I have multiple ways of keeping up with my friends as well. I have plenty of entertainment options. I can get my exercise through videos. I can go outside and walk in the park if I stay vigilant. I have Kevin. I think it says a lot about our relationship that I can still say I'm happy we have each other. We aren't fighting. We aren't tired of each other. Our relationship is surviving this.
I also have my health. A week ago I was worried I might not have my health. It was a false alarm and I'm still healthy. I assume as long as I keep following the rules, I won't be infected with COVID-19.
The wiser folks among us say, “This too shall pass.” I don’t know how it will pass. What will the other side of all of this look like? The future is scary and that is one thing that makes the tedium of the here and now more attractive. We find the best way to get through today. Maybe a year from now we will look back on this and congratulate ourselves for our fortitude.
He said, "And...?"
And nothing. There was no purpose to my saying that. It was only a statement of longing. There was a time when I could travel across oceans and enjoy a beautiful spring day in my favorite foreign country.
Then I thought about other jaunts I took during the month of April. Two years ago we went to Maui. Three years ago we went to Amsterdam. I remembered what it was like to stare out the window of my hotel room at the Hoxton, looking through the budding trees to the canal below. I thought of snorkeling at Molokini Crater and how beautiful it was beneath the surface of the water that I wanted to grow gills and stay there. All of it is in the past.
If I didn't feel bad enough, last night after watching the news and scrolling through his Facebook feed, Kevin declared, "There is a 25% chance we will make it to Chincoteague this year."
Going to Chincoteague in the summer isn't a special treat or a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity as the other trips were. It has always been a given. It's not merely a vacation for us. It's like a second home. When I don't go there in the summer, it feels like I had a limb cut off - even when I don't go due to having free and fabulous alternatives. It's the one activity I feel I have left to look forward to and I am going to miss it. I'm am not sure I can handle the idea of such a low probability of returning there this summer with no alternatives.
The company I work for doesn’t only provide research for the energy industry (which is my field). It covers multiple verticals, including healthcare. I have access to the opinions of topnotch epidemiologists. Their predictions are grim. We have at least two months to go before we are on the other side of the curve.
Sometimes it feels like the epidemiologists at GlobalData are the optimistic ones. The issue goes beyond a drop in new infections. We have to prevent a new surge. I turn on the TV and hear people like Dr. Fauci tell us we won't be out of danger until a new vaccine is developed. That could take more than a year. What will that year look like for us? Do we all have to stay quarantined until this vaccine is available?
I think of everything I had planned for this year. I have a landmark birthday coming this summer. I wanted the celebration to last for the whole year. I hoped to take some "staycation" days and persuade some friends to join me. I had all kinds of ideas for local outings. I would explore all the museums in the city I never visited. I would explore all the local sites in the Hudson Valley on my to-do list. I wanted to have family dinners at my favorite restaurants. I wanted to buy myself a new car. I wanted to take another overseas trip. I had some tentative plans for some weekend jaunts with my friends to some of my US bucket list destinations. I intended to welcome in my second half of a century with a bang. Right now it looks like my birthday celebration will be dinner at my apartment with Kevin we ordered from the fanciest restaurant that delivers on Seamless. I'm sure my parents will call me.
Last night I had a dream one of my dearest out-of-town friends was planning a visit and we discussed where we would have lunch when she arrived. I woke up depressed knowing this wasn't going to happen. I rarely see some of my best friends in the best of times and social isolation has made seeing them impossible.
As I hit the one-month mark of staying isolated at home, I am feeling not only the loss of hope for enjoying the future, but I'm also feeling down about the here and now.
Today I went out on my balcony and looked at all the dead plants in my window boxes and pots. My balcony is the one way I can get outside and not have to worry about social distancing. On a warm day I love to be out there in my "garden" full of flowers. I love to sit out there with a morning beverage or with a glass of wine on a summer evening. It's not the same when everything is dead. I wonder if I will ever be able to replace the plants. I have some thyme, sage, and mint that is coming back from last year (an advantage of the warm winter), but I have four pots and four window boxes with nothing growing in them. Nurseries are shut down. What can I plant? My local supermarket has some sad-looking flowers and a few herbs for sale, but many of the flowers are ones that require full sun and my balcony only gets full sun for a few hours in the morning.
Speaking of going to the local supermarket, I hate that it's the only place to food shop. I miss the farmers' market. In the summer I buy almost all of my groceries there. I love the beautiful abundance of a farmers' market on a summer day. I feel less guilty eating meat when I am buying pastured animals directly from the farmers. I miss chatting with the farmers. I miss petting all the dogs that come to the market. I miss the fresh baked goods and jams and cheeses. When I go to the supermarket I know nothing about where my food comes from and the variety is worse every week. Socializing of any kind is impossible.
Let's talk about other types of shopping. In the past two months so many clothing websites have been selling merchandise at attractive discounts. I took advantage of that. I thought it would be useful to have some pretty new clothes for work once the warm weather arrives. Even after the lockdown, I was optimistic enough to believe I would wear them before the season was over. Now I worry I won't be wearing them until next summer. The only item of clothing I bought that is suitable for wearing around the house is a pair of jeans. Some of those clothes haven't even been unpacked from their bags and boxes. It would be too depressing to see stuff hanging in my closet that reminds me of going out of the house on a warm spring or summer day, caring about how I look because my face isn't covered with a mask.
There is so much more I miss.
I miss my dance class. I still practice my tap routines even though I doubt we will be having our recital this year. I can't wear tap shoes in my apartment though, so it's not the same experience. Who knows if I can return to class before the season is over?
I miss the theater. Every play I was considering auditioning for this spring was canceled. Sometimes I turn on YouTube karaoke videos and sing as a substitute. I have considered recording them and putting them here or putting them on Facebook just so I can have some semblance of performing. It's not as much fun as performing for a live audience. I also don't get the experience of rehearsing and the joy of working together with the cast to get the show on its feet.
Most of all I miss my horses. That was my main way of getting outside every weekend. I want to drive through the countryside. I want to be at the barn. I want to get dirty with a purpose. I want to connect with my two-legged and four-legged friends. I want to feel a horse move beneath me, responding to my commands, and making me feel like I'm flying.
Like so many other people at the beginning of this isolation, I thought I might accomplish so much more at home. I was going to read more books, find time for meditation, do some serious housecleaning, and write twice as many blog posts. I lost momentum for that pretty quickly. When I'm not working I tend to move mindlessly from activity to activity. I may be motivated for a little while to clean or work out (and yes, I do still work out) or read or write, but I always seem to end up on the couch watching TV or browsing Facebook. I accomplish far less in a day than I intend to. I feel as if I have all the time in the world to get things done, so I have no real impetus to start new projects. It's easy to procrastinate.
I'm tired of living my life in these five rooms. I wonder if my inability to stick to any given task is due to my searching for something novel. I keep changing what I'm doing with the hope that it will somehow feel different or make being at home less tedious. I watch TV because it's a window to the outside world. I hang out on Facebook because it's the only way I can connect with a large number of people.
I know I should be grateful. I have a home with no rent or mortgage to pay. I have a job (even if Kevin still doesn't). I am putting food on the table. My family is a phone call away and I have multiple ways of keeping up with my friends as well. I have plenty of entertainment options. I can get my exercise through videos. I can go outside and walk in the park if I stay vigilant. I have Kevin. I think it says a lot about our relationship that I can still say I'm happy we have each other. We aren't fighting. We aren't tired of each other. Our relationship is surviving this.
I also have my health. A week ago I was worried I might not have my health. It was a false alarm and I'm still healthy. I assume as long as I keep following the rules, I won't be infected with COVID-19.
The wiser folks among us say, “This too shall pass.” I don’t know how it will pass. What will the other side of all of this look like? The future is scary and that is one thing that makes the tedium of the here and now more attractive. We find the best way to get through today. Maybe a year from now we will look back on this and congratulate ourselves for our fortitude.
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