Tag: pandemic

Coarse

I felt irritable and crotchety. This is an excerpt from a piece I wrote last spring…

No specific reason, but generally I’m irritatble. I have been consistently exercising, and eating well for the most part. I’m getting enough sleep. The kids are doing as well as can be expected despite the pandemic and limited social interaction. They are finding ways to seek and spread joy. (And play all the computer games.) We are reading at night, spending as much time outdoors during the day as is possible, anxiously anticipating the warmth of the coming months.

I feel like sandpaper. A coarse grit sandpaper rubbing on a rough plank with lots of slivers stuck up every which way. While I know the plank will eventually be smooth, right now it’s a matter of knocking the little flecks off and rounding off the sharp edges. The edges lately have been words like COVID, pandemic, restrictions, ‘We’re in this together’, and all of the 9568 emails regarding school schedules and plans and contingency plans and plans for after the contingencies. I’m tired of the monotony. I think like many of us, I just want to feel a kind of normal. Not what was. Not the going backward to the “before times”. Just a new even keel. Whatever that is, just some kind of way that doesn’t feel uncomfortable and scratchy. The now is definitely uncomfortable, awkward and like the scratchiest pair of pants.

Ever.

As a trainer, I used to tell clients to get comfortable being uncomfortable. That’s where the magic happens, where change resides. Holding a squat or sprinting on a bike lasts for minutes at a time. Minutes – even a class – of uncomfortable, we can sit in and endure. Not a dang year. People-ing is hard. People-ing lately is pretty darn uncomfortable. A year of the uncomfortable is exhausting. And grating….frustrating, and, and, and….all the range of the covid coaster of emotions. I’m ready to be done with the sandpaper edges. For the slivers to be dust on the floor, the smell of the sawdust a distant memory.

I laugh at the then-year that had passed. It’s been 18 months of the not-normal. We camped and played all summer. It was a nice little break, but now that the kids have been back in school (and in person, with masks and distancing) it all feels so incredibly real and heavy once again. I came across a post from a teacher friend that for a 7th grader, 4th grade was their last uninterrupted “normal” school year. It came in the form of this graphic:

It took me a second to figure out that it was in fact the spring break of my son’s 5th grade year and my daughter’s 4th grade year that spring break we all went home and it hasn’t been normal since. Now in 7th and 6th they have adapted, as we all have – though knowing that none of this is ideal. In addition to the coarseness that I felt in the spring – I would add a numbness to it, too. A friend and I were recently discussing that it feels never-ending. Monotonous. Tiring.

Endurance is my jam. I can hang with the low and slow crowd forever. Running long distances was a love of mine for a long time. Now that I cycle more, endurance rides make me feel amazing without blowing up my legs. This covid era feels like a race where the finish line keeps getting extended. How long is the race? Dunno. How long will it take? Not sure. Water station? Ehhhh, they may be all out. Apparently we just have to keep going in spite of not being trained for this.

I’m not sure I need the finisher t-shirt for this particular race.

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A Year

Things keep popping up on the social media feeds I’m marveling at how on one hand, while scary, there was a thread of positivity in the beginning. The “we’re in this together!” tagline attached to every commercial. It’s hard not to scoff at those sentiments, looking through the lens of hindsight. Between politics and the weaponizing of mask wearing and all of the events that happened last year, both public and personal, I’m finding myself in a place of cynicism. A coarseness or roughness that wasn’t so close to the surface last year. Like we are all just more abrasive now than we were last spring.

Seems like we did all the things; the crafts with the kids, the rock painting, mask sewing, and hanging of shamrocks and teddy bears and hearts in the windows. We “chalked the walk”. Much of it seems silly now.

Naive.

Frustrating.

I’m angry that people don’t wear masks properly – if at all. I’m angry that people downplay the severity of symptoms and think they are invincible, making excuses to travel and do whatever they like as if we are not living through a pandemic. Anger morphs into apathy. A resignation and understanding that people are generally selfish. Part of me doesn’t mind the mask wearing. People are gross, generally. Ask anyone who has worked in food service or in banking. People are gross and breathe in your face. Masks don’t bother me. I will happily wear one in public.

What bothers me most is the unwillingness of people to recognize that they are not only vulnerable, but that they can literally kill someone else and not even be aware of it.

Because they wanted to go out to eat.

A selfish desire leads to someone’s death.

Just doesn’t seem right.

3.5 years

Sitting here socially distanced and masked up since early spring, I often wonder about how much people have likely ramped up drinking – out of fear.

Out of boredom.

Anxiety.

Anger.

So much anger. Because yep, it’s an election year on top of everything else. Just days away from an election that will determine our path forward, for better or worse. There is a brittleness in our communities that seems tangible. It’s just right there, under the surface. I see it when I go to the grocery. I see it on the wearied faces of the checkout clerk. I feel it in the shortness and clipped responses. So much irritability and anger.

Walking through the store, I saw an elderly gentleman while in the store with what looked like at least a dozen bottles of wine. “Eyes on your own cart,” I reminded myself. The mind still wondered though. Maybe he’s buying in bulk. Who knows? Not my business. On a different day, I saw another person juggling 4-5 bottles of hard liquor. Probably having a party of some kind. Whatever. Not my business. These kinds of thoughts flash through my mind in a matter of seconds. I’ve noticed them more frequently lately, and what seems to be an uptick of alcohol purchases at a few of the grocery stores I frequent.

My 3 year soberversary rolled around a few months ago. It’s weird how time works, both dragging and speeding by as we look through the lens of hindsight. Even more so when aboard the careening Corona-coaster that is this year.

Over three years ago we were living in another state, I went veggie right around the same time and homeschooling wasn’t seriously on my radar. Eric had left for the what felt like the longest year and last deployment. (Knock on wood it stays the last!) I was looking at selling the house while he was gone. I had survived closing up the house and evacuating from Hurricane Harvey with a torn up shoulder and a bit more confidence that I could, in fact, do hard things. I chopped off all my hair and started over because I was too impatient to let the dyed/Brazilian blowout part grow.

What a time to choose sobriety.

But thank God I did.

Eyes on my own cart. Eyes on my own path.

Thank God I chose the one I’m on.

Corona-Style Visits

I was able to escape my family yesterday for an outing (with masks and social distancing, of course) and took my 2 little dogs for the adventure. I met up with my mom and our friends and walked nearly 3 miles around Coupeville, WA – which is a lot for little dogs with short legs! The view was gorgeous!

These are the beautiful Pacific Northwest days that fool people into moving here, not realizing it does rain here 8 months out of the year.

Silly doggies!

After our trek, we socially distanced on the porch and the dogs had treats. They were definitely worn out and ready for a mellow 4th of July.

After our dog walking adventure and heading back up to my hometown, Mom and I decided to do a drive thru coffee and head to a park with the dogs just to sit and continue our visit. The dogs were tired and it was time to go.

But…..

Anytime we get started on what we call, “Solving all the world’s problems,” (and seriously there are a few!) parting ways typically takes a minimum of an hour. Or 2. Possibly canceling later plans. It was simply a lovely day. As we eventually made our way back to our cars, she backed her car in so we could chat, “just a little while longer” but let the dogs have some A/C, water and a comfy rest. And then a friend joined us.

You cannot see it in these photos, but there is a WASP-BEE-Murder Hornet flitting between our cars. We would roll our windows down, chat for a bit, and then scramble to roll the window back up as it flew back by. Side note: this is the one time that it does not pay to have power windows. No matter how hard you press that button, the window will only go up at the same slow speed. Manual windows – you could crank that puppy as fast as your arm would go and get that window up quick!

By the 14th time of windows up-down-up-down-up-down trying to avoid said murder hornet, we were laughing hysterically, simultaneously speaking on our phones. Second side note: Did you also know there is a delay when you use a cell in close proximity to the person to whom you are speaking?! We discovered that and played “foreign film montage”!

Silly from the fresh air, the exercise and/or the ridiculous wasp, as well as an overdue visit amidst a global pandemic, we did eventually bid farewell (3 hours later, whoops!). It was just what the mental health doctor ordered!

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