Quarantine Lessons for the Soul
Early morning. White robe. Tears. Confusion. The horror of it. The second Twin Tower collapses on live television. Was it a replay?
The Regency Hotel, New York. My fellow reporters and I glued to the television set in the hospitality suite. An eerie disquiet floats. Like an osprey upon its prey, the words “not guilty” descend on us. A collective gasp breaks the silence. Orenthal James Simpson is a free man.
I ride the wave that is the living room floor of my L.A. apartment, a glass-half-full attitude presiding. The words ”at least I will die happy” leave my lips as I am shaken into submission unaware that a few years down the road I would be staring happy in the face with a generous dose of gratitude. Meet the Sierra Madre earthquake.
A Range Rover cradled by the ocean. Pristine streets turned filthy swamps of terror. Naked estates begging for cover. Mother Nature’s muddy wrath brings our community to its knees. And yet no amount of shock, disbelief or grief manages to tarnish the underpinnings of our city’s unity and strength, qualities Santa Barbara carries with her tenfold to this day.
The ease with which those memories can be summoned to mind astounds me. Not so with the coronavirus pandemic. On the heels of the impeachment trial and presidential primaries, our deeply divided country is on the verge of being held hostage to a world calamity, ubiquitous emotions clashing with mental images of before and after clamoring to be seen.
The last time I hugged a friend was in our garden on Saturday, March 14. We had just videobombed our daughters’ recording, a moment frozen in time, the one I keep close to my heart. This is my last before. Try as I might to conjure up an image of what might lie ahead is increasingly futile. A pathogen directive implores us to reassess our priorities which are forever changed.
Thankfully, the technology we are keen to keep away from our children has become an essential part of our new normal. As I write I am cognizant of the fact that there is no shortage of content. Never before had I seen so many facebook posts and text notifications alerting me to the voices of my fellow quarantine warriors. We receive tidings of everything from politics as they relate to the virus to memes of a now defunct porn star who could not have imagined just how famous he had become. I witnessed and experienced every possible emotion from anger to laughter and melancholy to folly in the initial days of our quarantine. Two weeks later, our family has well adapted to our daily routines. As a friend I have learned that in the absence of physical connections many of us find comfort in the virtual cocktail hour that modern technology offers, while others find strength in solitude. As a mother I have employed both a firm hand approach and that of a protective lioness defending her cubs. I welcome each day as a challenge, a lesson learned, an opportunity to grow, and for those of us who have not succumbed to the virus, a battle won.
When the pressure is on is when you really see what people are made of. People can be great when everything is great. The question is what does a person do when things aren't great and what does a person do when the pressure is on them?
In a palpable state of exhaustion, Governor Andrew Cuomo of New York delivered the above words while addressing his constituents on Friday. His is my go-to voice when I crave unity, empathy and strength, which is every day of late.
Yes we're tired but look at what others among us have to do, the challenge they're under and how they are stepping up. Who am I to complain about being tired when so many people are doing such heroic efforts?
As the days continue to unfold, so do beautiful stories highlighting the triumph of the human spirit: teens delivering food to the elderly, a commercial landlord who asked his tenants to pay their employees in lieu of rent and my friend, Pamela, who has fabricated much needed masks by the dozens for the the first responders.
The beautiful comment below, in response to a facebook post in which the writer suggests we all have a will in place, nearly brought me to tears:
I thought maybe we should be writing our wishes on a post it and putting it inside the door. Like... "I'm 49. Please don't ventilate me if someone with young kids needs it."
Stories like these have aided me in finding compassion for the different manner in which each of us responds to what we face, read, and hear. Surrounding myself with these positive voices has been instrumental in keeping my glass half-full. Nearly two weeks ago my brother sent me a clip of his godson, Klaus Stroink, and his two roommates in Barcelona, belting out a rumba style quarantine song which my family now knows by heart. Not only did their new Instagram account stay.homas garner nearly 170K followers in ten days. They were also featured in The New Yorker and in a matter of ten short minutes, sold out a July concert which may not even occur.
The talented trio seeks to inform and offer hope with reggae, bossanova, rap, and rumba style songs. As well known Catalan artist, Pau Donés, stated recently,“Writing has the greatest effect when we are moved. For me it began when I was diagnosed with cancer five years ago and met so many kind, altruistic people who inspired me to write the song Guardian Angel.” Much like Donés, I too find writing to be more poignant when life throws us a curveball.
May we exit this pandemic as guardian angels of the world, with a heightened sense of awareness, empathy and strength so that the lens of humanity can finally become the one from which we choose to view life.
Stay home and safe.