You already know what this is about, if you live anywhere on Earth.
There is something about submerging yourself underwater that feels much like surrender, something we could probably all do a little more of. Myself, I have somehow gone through life kicking and screaming and have failed to realize that sometimes that might not be the best approach. But sinking below the surface of the water has always felt let letting go of an immense weight that I carry with me on land. The ocean is best for this, as it will swallow you whole without mercy and couldn't care less about any punches you'd like to throw. A swimming pool works well too...though having been a lifeguard, I can tell you that they are not incredibly keen on people dropping into the deep end, sinking to the bottom, and sitting there. Makes them nervous.
Every single body of water around here is off-limits, closed until we can corral the coronavirus. Swimming pools, beaches, bays, rivers (you would not swim in the San Diego River anyway), etc. People have been arrested trying to get around it. That may very well be the only thing I miss. I don't have anything else to surrender to now- expect maybe my living room floor.
I started out the year with good intentions, as most of us do. I went for a run on the first day of the year, like usual. I have been trying to eat well, lower my stress level, get plenty of sleep, and just be a good person. I ran a marathon the first weekend in March. I took off to Kauai, just as the coronavirus was gaining traction. I made it home shortly after the Governor shut down California.
Let me tell you right off. I do not miss being around people. At all. That it is now appropriate (and encouraged) that I stay the hell away from people, is the biggest blessing I have received in a long time. Being around people stresses me out. It drains me. Now I work from the confines of my own home, alone. I run early in the morning when the streets are completely empty. But for all the grace bestowed upon me by mandatory isolation, there is possibly equal amounts cruelty in the form of judgement, perceived or actual, whenever I do leave the house. I am doing the wrong thing, all the time.
I do not cover my face when I run or ride my bike. Judging eyes are visible above the masks of anyone out and about, but I cannot restrict my breathing to appease those who are not educated about why and when the masks should be worn in the first place. But I too, am judging them. When they sit at a traffic light, alone in their cars, with windows rolled up, wearing a mask and gloves, I wonder- who do they think they're protecting?
When I came back from Hawaii, I sent my husband to the store for groceries, because he had the flexibility to go during work hours, when there wasn't a large line out the door. Now that things have quieted down and the panic is down to a low rumble, I am back to doing the shopping. Every weekend there are new rules that I am unprepared for, and every weekend I feel scorned and ashamed, and for the most part, I would admit that I have projected those feelings onto others and they probably don't think much about what I am doing.
I decided to picture myself as a post-apocalyptic warrior. I am, after all, a survivor. And what is this all to me anyway, except a bit of an inconvenience? It could certainly be worse. My hours and pay did not change, I have food (and toilet paper!) and everything I need. After last weekend's anxiety attack while grocery shopping, I decided I would adapt. I would meet the challenge and make the best of it. I would be resilient, compassionate, and brave. And I thought I was. Until I was publicly chided by an older man today for not knowing the grocery store hours had been changed to accommodate seniors.
After doing the walk of shame past the line of seniors waiting to get in the store, I steadied my warrior persona and drove up the rode to a different store. I put on my cute yellow mask with ladybugs and daisies, looked over my shopping list, and headed into the store. New store, new one-way aisles. I planned my route, then forged on- only to figure out my route did not work well with the flow diagram the store had glued to the floor.
In the checkout line, a lady directed me to a cashier.
"You can push your cart forward, but stand here. He will tell you when it's ok to put your groceries on the belt."
I waited. I watched the checker ring up the groceries of the couple in front of me. I waited for his cue. I am socially awkward. I felt a lot of pressure to get this right. The groceries in front of me dwindled until there were none. Now? He hadn't even acknowledged my presence yet. He rung them up. I waited. Did he forget? Was I doing this wrong? I turned to ask the lady who had given me the direction in the first place. She was busy talking to a coworker. The cashier finally looked over at me and turned the belt on, and said hello. Caught off guard, I said hello and frantically tried to unload my groceries to keep up with his pace. He asked if I needed bags, and I said I did, as I glanced at the sign in front of me that declared reusable bags not allowed. It's a funny question then, isn't it? I cringed as the bagger loaded my groceries into plastic bags.
As I drove home, I felt stunned. I thought I was prepared. I thought I had pulled myself together and figured this out. I thought I should be so resilient that I should be unaffected by the guy who scolded me at the first store, and unfazed by the one-way aisles that don't go the way I want them to go. Through this whole thing I have been convinced that I should be unaffected by all that is going on- because I kept my job, I don't like being around people anyway, I'm a homebody, I'm tough, I'm resourceful, and above all else, I have toilet paper. But I realized that no matter what stayed constant in my life, so much has changed, and continues to change, minute by minute. I've been informed that change causes anxiety, and I have to say I agree. I'm not a person who turns to alcohol to solve my problems, but I had already done my workout for the day, I had gone grocery shopping and had nowhere else to be for the rest of the day. It wasn't even 9 am. But I decided that in a situation like this, it is never too early for alcohol on grocery day, and I don't need to judge myself harshly for having a tough time. So I dumped a mini bottle of salted caramel liqueur into my coffee, sat on the couch, and stared out the window.
Maybe the lesson here is this: we shouldn't try so hard to make life normal when it absolutely is not.
