I’ve traveled back in time. For me, it’s 2020 again. I work from home; I wear a mask everywhere; I only dine outdoors. I see friends outside or on Zoom or occasionally in very small gatherings at someone’s home if everyone is feeling healthy. I am once again marveling at how much messier my home gets when I don’t leave it as often. I’m trying new recipes and reading copiously; I’m watching tons of TV at a time when no new TV is being made. I’ve started projects to use up random items and I keep trying to declutter.
You’d think I’d be better at this lifestyle since I’ve done it before. But the problem is, while I’m back in the land of quarantine, everyone else is in 2023. A unexpected medical diagnosis led to treatment that has left me immuno-compromised. This all happened in the span of two months. Travel plans for the fall: canceled. Trying new restaurants in the city: can’t sit inside! Hosting Diwali dinner: definitely not an option. I was - I am - still angry. This is not something I could have controlled or prevented, even if I tried. There’s no one to blame and no one to direct my feelings at, which makes my anger feel rootless. I spent time being angry at the healthcare system when they kept denying insurance coverage for my treatments, but when they finally got approved, I needed a new bad guy. It’s a month and a half later and I still don’t have a new bad guy.
Instead, I find myself resenting everyone else’s lives. I have to muster enthusiasm every time someone tells me about their travel plans or their recent night out. Even if I am genuinely excited to hear about it, the resentment is simmering under the surface. Time is still moving for everyone else even though it’s standing still for me. And now that the cold is setting in, I have to make choices about whether to risk my physical health or my mental health for the next few months, when meeting outside for drinks or meals is no longer an option. I don’t have the energy for that kind of math. And these feelings have a trickle-down effect; I then find myself feeling upset that I am so distressed about having to take these precautions, when there are so many terrible things happening everywhere else, and when I’m lucky enough to have access to healthcare. It’s a cycle of negativity I’m struggling to break.
I don’t know what the future looks like right now. I like being in control, so this level of uncertainty is not working well for me. I try to focus on what I can plan - travel from December to February, all the things I want to go out to eat, all the friends I’ll catch up with that I can’t see right now - but that works better some days than others. When all else fails, I remind myself that I’m lucky to have great friends and family. Friends near and far, who have had Zoom dates with me or send care packages or sit outside on a cold, rainy day to eat and catch up. Who have been so nice about canceled plans and moving targets. Family who has come to stay with me during treatment and has called or texted to check in, even when they don’t really know what to say. Having people in your corner is no small thing.
Everyone’s life is moving forward, and I’m trying to keep mine moving too, in whatever small ways I can. All this reading means I’ve actually made a dent in my TBR list, even as I keep adding new things to it. I’m pretty sure the librarians at my local branch recognize my masked face now that I pick up books once or twice a week. I’ve cooked some new things, including this salad from Bon Appetit that I had bookmarked ages ago. I might need to make it one more time before tomato season is officially over. I still made the pumpkin chocolate cookies I like to make every fall and distributed them to friends (I’m overdue to make another batch). I’ve started a project that uses the embroidery threads I have left over from so many cross-stitch kits to make holiday gifts. I have started doing a face mask once a week, because I might as well treat my skin nice while I’m at home. I’m trying to be kind to myself, because when there isn’t a bad guy, it’s easy for me to just be angry at…me. Even if it’s illogical or impractical.
I’ve been trying to write about other things for the last few months. But I realized that until I wrote about this, I probably wouldn’t be able to write about anything else. I’m hoping this post marks a new start to writing regularly again, because that’s something I don’t want to break with. I started writing regularly during the last quarantine; I don’t want that to change during this new one.
