I loathe being told the universe has a plan for me. Just like I loathe being told a god has a plan for me. If either is true then either is shit - absolute shit.
I've been thinking about the millions of people whose entire careers, entire livelihoods, are paused and, potentially, gone forever, because of COVID-19. I know so many people personally who are going through this (if you don't, please don't ever tell me you don't know what privilege or living in a bubble is). They are scared. It's more than just the loss of the income (which is horrible enough) - it's the potential loss of everything they've worked for and been all of their lives. It is a loss of identity and purpose. You have to go through that yourself to know what that's like. And I so understand.
I have been more unemployed than not since February 2005. Not many people know that, because not many people read this blog and because I don't talk about it except with just three or four people. I don't talk about it because it's humiliating - even though logic tells me it's not my fault, I feel like it's my fault. Plus, it's been easy to hide: I've lucked out with some full-time, short-term, high profile gigs a few times over the years, landed some part-time work that lasted several months here and there, and I kept really busy with personal projects that I could make sound really important. I've frequently talk about those experiences - not the in-between time - and, as a result, people think I've done really well professionally these last several years. If you look at my résumé, there's no misinformation or misrepresentation on it, ever - but if you really looked at it and did a little math, you could figure out there are some BIG gaps between gigs.
I've been okay financially, despite my chronic unemployment, because I'm doing something I vowed I would never, ever do: I'm supported by a spouse. It's been humbling. Not in a good way.
Lots of people have tried to break my spirit over the years, and still I persisted - but chronic unemployment, and the 2016 election, and being completely reliant on someone else, did what they all failed to do. Yeah, I broke. I'm so full of fractures I'm surprised I don't crumble into a pile of rubble. I'm still working to embrace the new me, the oh-so-shakeable woman who walks away from fights rather than jumps in, who doubts herself even more than before (and it was a LOT before), whose career is over.
But I've realized something about myself as I've watched so many people in the USA struggle with being on home quarantine during this pandemic and with challenges I've been dealing with for well more than a decade: I've done pretty damn well living in isolation for several years.
Since February 2005, I've gone MONTHS without seeing anyone except my husband and whoever I might see when I walk my dog or go to the grocery, and I haven't lost my marbles. Me being home so much, for so long, week after week after week, is
- why I go on epic long walks most every day, something I never did before I became mostly jobless.
- how and why I learned to cook. I can walk up to the pantry and fridge and throw something together that's more than edible. I couldn't do that before, not at all.
- why I have professional blogs written months in advance and my web site looks like I'm flourishing.
- why I've been able to retrieve all sorts of pioneering materials I've produced over the years and reproduce them on my web site so they will have a much longer life.
- why I have had time to really delve deep into some of my professional interests, like regarding public health misinformation - I'll never get paid for all this research, but I have loved the journey.
- why I can edit videos.
- why my family tree is now traced back so, so far back.
- why I have raised garden beds full of tomatoes at the end of every summer.
And on the rare occasions I've worked in these last several years, I've done some of my best work, and I'm proud of that work. I went back and read some of the things I've produced in the last 10 years and, welp, I know this is arrogant, but some of this stuff absolutely kicks ass. I would read something I didn't remember producing and think, Damn! This is Good! I forgot!
In her remarks to her nation regarding COVID-19, Queen Elizabeth II said, "I hope in the years to come everyone will be able to take pride in how they responded to this challenge."
That really resonated with me, because during my years of social isolation, I tried to do things that, years later, I can look back on and think, okay, you didn't totally waste your time. And I feel like I can, indeed, say that.
Seeing people crumple over a month or so home quarantine is sad, and I'm sorry, I really am. I am not at all mocking them. This is hard, absolutely - I get that more than most. But it also makes me realize just how well I've done in all these years of isolation.
Life isn't that different for me in-home quarantine during COVID-19, except that I'm so scared of the behavior of others when I have to go to the grocery every two weeks, and we can't break my monotony by going out to eat, the way we could before. I had already given up going to the movies except maybe twice a year. The biggest difference is that I can't go to concerts or go on public transit to reach meetings (which aren't happening anyway). And, of course, no motorcycle riding. Unlike in many other countries, motorcycle riding isn't banned, and we are going to go on a motorcycle ride in May at some point, our first since we're back from Mexico, though it will be short - I don't want to use any public bathrooms through June, at least.
And Stefan still goes to work, which scares me even as that paycheck comforts me.
So many seem to be giving up on home quarantine and have picked their own dates to go "back to normal" - I've heard people say they are going to stop isolating on May 1, others say they are going to in mid-May. But I'm sticking with this: no crowds, no public performances, no movies, no mass transit, not having anyone over and not going to restaurants through June. In fact, I am not going to ride public transit through the entire summer, at least. I'm not getting on an airplane through the rest of 2020. I'm lucky to be privileged to choose to not do all that.
Stefan wants to go camping in September, and it scares me, because it means public bathrooms and restaurants. We'll see.
"We'll get through this." Well, no, not all of us will. As of the day I write this, more than 60,000 people in the USA didn't get through it - they're dead. It's probably twice that number from COVID-19 - many people who have died from this aren't being counted because they never made it to a medical facility or never got tested. And the people that loved them don't feel like they themselves have gotten through it either.
Plus, I fear that nonprofit theaters, theater festivals, dance groups, museums and a whole slew of arts-related nonprofits aren't coming back. We desperately need the arts to contribute to social cohesion, but it's never a political or civic priority for that to happen, and while everyone is obsessed with starting sports back up, no one is talking about the arts. And that hurts my heart beyond anything I can put into words.
It's amazing to think people thought this would be over in a couple of weeks. I don't think things are going to be "back to normal" a year from now.
I've updated my will and am trying to get some other things in order, in case I get sick. Because I know I'm not surviving this if I get it. I'm not making plans beyond 2020, because I don't really know if there will be such for me, if I get this, and there is still a big chance I could.
Don't confuse this talk with being with peace with this or resigned to this - I'm not at all I'm so incredibly angry that there is still no widespread testing, still no systems in place for contact tracing, and there's a President who wants people to put me and everyone else at risk so he can keep his hotels open. I want to have a future, and I'm not sure I do now.
And, no, the universe does not have a plan.
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