The World Was Shaking. And I Was Oddly Calm.
Reflections on a pandemic life distilled: an honest take on why I fear going back to “normal”
I read the headline the NYTimes put out about Britain administering a vaccine, “The Beginning of the End of the Pandemic,” and my heart sank — not out of fear that this crazy year wouldn’t end, but out of fear that it would — and thus, what life might look like on the other side.
The reality is the lifestyle of the pandemic, in some ways, soothed me. It sounds and is paradoxical, privileged to write but I know I’m not alone in this sentiment. The pandemic also gave the world a rallying cry to get behind. No one wants to get sick. No one wants their loved ones to suffer. For once, I felt that people were feeling some of the extreme anxiety around health, of fear of future uncertainty, the sadness and depression that had seeped into moments and phases of my life — suddenly I wasn’t the only one to express feeling these things — as March turned to April and then to May, the whole world was shaking. And I was oddly calm.
At the onset of the pandemic, I was sharing one floor of a San Francisco apartment with 4 roommates. As we all sequestered ourselves to our rooms, vying for internet bandwidth, I recall a phone conversation I had while sitting on the floor next to my bed (this 9x9 foot space became my bedroom, living room, office, and sometimes kitchen) with an old colleague from the Stanford Life Design Lab. Though we only worked together the one year we started at the Lab, we both had families from the Bronx, and from the moment she asked me if she could wake me up to pee when we went camping for our “welcome” night at work, I knew we were destined for deep friendship.
We also both struggle viscerally with anxiety. “How are you doing?” she asked on the phone. And I answered, almost in an ashamed whisper, “I know this sounds crazy, but I am GOOD.” She said. “I know. Me too. We’ve experienced these feelings before, lived through them, have the tools to deal with this kind of stuff AND we can help others.” It was so true.
Meanwhile, I had two parents and a brother across the country in New York battling with an early and rough onset of COVID in March, my therapist of 3 years was leaving, I was about to move in with my boyfriend and at the ripe age of 33, I had never lived with a partner ever in my life, and was converting a week-long in-person training program for global participants to virtual in a month’s time. After that, I would leave my work at Stanford after 6 years — what had become a home and a pillar for me after a wildly fraught transition out to the west coast. Normally, I’d be a HOT MESS. But I was okay.
Why? Thanks to some insta-therapist (UY), I read something of the like: “Are you finding yourself unusually calm during COVID? It’s likely that you’ve experienced trauma before and lived through it.” I had and I did.
Here’s what happened when the pandemic started. Instead of feeling like I needed to see every healing practitioner under the sun to fix all the seemingly broken pieces of my body, in an endless navigation of the insanity of the healthcare system, I had to stop. PT was closed; Chiropractor closed; doctor offices were at first dangerous to visit. Suddenly seeing my gastroenterologist and ENT and psychiatrist were as easy as a click away. All these visits slowed to a trickle and I realized I was just as mediocre with or without all the doctors in my life. I wasn’t frantically bike-train-drive-running from one thing to the next. And my stinging FOMO for everyone and everything dulled — no one could go anywhere (at first) or do anything.
I was living my best homebody life. Restaurants always felt too frivolous and bars were never my thing (unless there were games). I’d somehow developed a deep fear around alcohol so living a going out-less life was no problem. The things I loved to do — and always have — ride my bicycle, cook all the things, DANCE, play piano, write, were all within reach. Is this to say I actually did these thoroughly or that I spent time on my creative endeavors — with all the pressure and prompting to do so — during the pandemic? Did I write my pandemic novel? Definitely not. Not even close. Did I spend many days questioning my purpose on the couch, sad and alone? Yes. I’m just saying that in ways, for me, the pandemic offered a life distilled down to basics — and that is a life for me and certainly a life for my anxiety to rest its weary head.
Also, when the pandemic struck, people started losing jobs and losing opportunities and losing a sense of self and what they thought might be next for them in life and career. It turned out that this very thing — how to design your life, career and your way forward intentionally was my expertise. I was leading up a global movement of bringing life design, based on the Designing Your Life class taught at Stanford and the bestselling, Designing Your Life book, to universities around the world. When the pandemic hit, my alma mater reached out to me to do a 3 part series for alumni on “Designing Your Life in Uncertain Times.” 200 people subscribed and they had to close off registration — people were eager to navigate their way forward in community and I could facilitate that experience.
Designing one’s future each and every day is based on the assumption that the future is entirely unknown — that you must accept where you are before building your way forward. The best way to get information about what is next for you is to DO something — not to think about something or mull something over; it is to actually try it. At Stanford, we taught on the foundation of this premise well before a pandemic hit. Our curriculum was more relevant than ever. Early COVID research came out saying purpose is what can keep us going — and I felt purpose.
Of course, this state of calm and confidence did not last forever — it hit big waves like it always does. Starting a new job remotely, feeling isolated from sick parents, witnessing the world crumble and businesses close and people lose loved ones , and women get hit HARD — it’s a nightmare. I silently wept as I finally brought myself to look at the NYTimes Year in Pictures — the lives that were lost, sacrificed, dishonored, and shamed. 2020 is too heavy for one heart to hold. But I also loved seeing the coming together: the stoop hangs; sidewalk ball using the 4 corners of the streets in the Mission District of San Francisco; 7pm cow bells up and down the steep streets; the outpouring of protest and love across virtual borders; the consideration for others’ health; the unabashed creativity emerging from the various constraints of our situations.
So needless to say, I’m scared shitless for things to go back to “normal.” Because normal was too fast and too furious for me. How I operated in “normal” got me real sick and real afraid in the past. My frequency was zippier, more nervous and in doing the hard, painful work of seeing all my inadequacies and deepest fears in partnership with another, I’m finally inching my way towards peace and now you’re going to open up the doors to all the stimuli and comparisons and possibilities? It’s too much for someone who is already too much.
As our communities and this country prepare for reintegration, we need the brains and beauty of millions of experience designers along with the PEOPLE to consider what it will look like for us to become human again together, in person. To take what we appreciated of the pandemic and integrate that with caution and care into having full access to places, people, and ourselves again. To reflect on what we lost — our collective grief — and how we might value and appreciate that more moving forward. It will be easy when all is back to forget what we missed. After the tragedy of a bad car accident and the high of winning a lottery, those two people will attenuate back to their original state of happiness after a month, research says. As we all eventually attenuate, can we do so with new meaning?
It’s in the liminal spaces, the transitions, where we can make the most profound impact, or lose the most grace. I hope we grow together in grace in this one.
With that, here are a few things I hope we integrate into our new reality. Please add yours in the comments.
I hope we realize that anything that denotes the passing of time — being cutting toenails (again) or baking for a holiday — is worth attending to. Anything can be a ritual.
I hope we see more stoop hangs and sidewalk games — some of my favorites were the sidewalk family basketball jams; the skatepark that is every street in every city; __________.
I hope people keep smiling at one another — when they see something precious, when they hear something delightful, when they simply pass on the streets.
I hope people keep prioritizing their close loved ones — the ones they are ‘stuck’ with at home; the ones far away.
I hope people keep doing walk-and-talks and feel the love of their communities close and far.
I hope people keep taking dance breaks and sharing dance love on the webs.
I hope people keep cooking and baking yummy things.
I hope we continue to have empathy for those who struggle with mental and emotional health — all of us at times — and know it makes us stronger to share in those struggles and know we’re not alone.
I hope takeout ice cream keeps it up. I never got it but the IDEA of it is delightful.
I hope people flood to the hills and the parks and the trails and then put their money where their foots are — not because I want crowded trails, but because we now can appreciate collectively what ‘going out’ is really about.
I hope people keep riding their bicycles more.
I hope people keep driving less and commuting less and the sky and the ocean stay so blue and the birds so chirpy.
I hope chic casual wear will always be a thing and brands keep making cool sweatpants.
I hope the sense of harmony we feel — we all share a similar struggle — will play on.
I hope people will keep singing and signing from their balconies.
I hope we keep cutting each other’s hair (ie: doing little endearing acts of kindness for one another).
I hope my brother keeps reaching out
I hope we can keep life as simple and serene as it deserves to be.
I hope we remember being busy does not mean being satisfied.
I hope we always value, express gratitude to and for, and celebrate people on the front lines of all sorts of things — the unsung heroes of our organizations and communities.
I hope we remember to never take for granted any health that we or our loved ones have.
I hope we continue to continue to evolve education and learning to match the needs of an evolving world.
I hope we remember that we are more globally connected than we think.
I hope we remember that black lives matter. History matters. That our actions today matter.
I hope you remember that the ocean is always open and water will always cleanse you.
What are yours? I’d love to hear…
