I felt like Paul Revere.
A year ago today I was already pretty scared.
As a former network news medical producer I was closely watching events unfold- first in Wuhan and then in Europe and particularly in Italy. A close colleague with whom I had just spent time at our global publishing conference runs our Italy division. She was writing me from Milan. It was a horror. I knew we were just ten days behind the disaster that was unfolding in her city and I was counting down the days as the viral tsunami approached.
One year ago today I was mentally preparing for the pandemic floodwaters barreling towards us. I felt like we were waiting and watching with no escape route. I shuddered at what seemed to be a complete lack of federal and local preparation despite blatant evidence before our very eyes just across the globe.
I would have never previously described myself as a germaphobe. But during that time period I was already washing my hands for long stretches. I recited positive self-care mantras under my breath. It made more sense than singing happy birthday twice. I was trying to give it everything I could. I wore gloves on the subway. I engaged my core muscles to avoid holding onto anything on the moving trains. I held my breath when in close proximity to others. I constantly worried about my colleagues, my children, my other relatives, and my friends. I was expressing my escalating fears to everyone I knew. I felt like Paul Revere galloping around shouting “The virus is coming, the virus is coming!”. I suspected people thought I was crazy and were laughing at my obnoxiously loud concerns. They probably were. But it felt like my duty to ring the alarm bells even if others weren’t.
A year ago today my daughter was just a few days away from coming home for her sophomore spring break with a suitcase containing a week’s worth of clothing which of course turned into many many months worth of wearing my clothes since hers had been left in St. Louis.
A year ago today I didn’t yet know anyone who had contracted Covid or who had died from it. That changed pretty quickly. I vowed not to leave New York and I haven’t. As awful as it has been, there has been so much to be thankful for.
Shortly after lockdown, I wrote about being grateful for resting. Quite early in quarantine I was realizing that I was resting my eyes by not wearing contacts, resting my feet by not wearing heels and resting my shoes by not pounding the pavement. I rested my skin by not wearing make up and rested my lungs by breathing less pollution.
I suffered from a lot of anxiety early on coupled with fear of loss and illness and death. An extrovert, I turned inward. I reached into the depths of my being to find comfort and solace and strength. I learned new things. I’ve practiced yoga nearly every day through online communities especially one started by my yoga teacher who was managing the Core Power Yoga studio by my house. I used to go there and sweat it out every morning before showering and rushing downtown to my beautiful office in lower Manhattan — the one I stayed in for so many hours each day. I became afraid to travel there knowing there were likely asymptomatic carriers of the coronavirus on that subway train.
Nearly everyone stopped taking those trains. Precious few have returned. Many offices remain closed. But the work has continued. It’s been incredibly rewarding. We’ve signed up lots of amazing books during this time. Some of them have already been published. Others are coming out soon. More are in their infancy. The authors are busy writing.
I’ve not seen my colleagues in person for a year. But I can look into their eyes more deeply on video than I used to across the big tables in the conference rooms at the office. I feel my professional relationships have become more personal. I’ve gotten to know some people better than I ever would have at work through the intimacy of those video calls on Microsoft teams.
I am practicing self-care by giving myself more frequent breaks throughout the day. It does me good. I go for walks, something I never used to do. It is the only entertainment we’ve got right now that doesn’t involve a screen. I’ve learned my way around Central Park which has always been just a few blocks to my east. I now know its trails and hills and trees and birds and ducks and geese. I’ve cherished the beauty of that Manhattan oasis through every season, times of the day, and during the working week. That never would have had been previously possible. I’ve deliberately scheduled time for myself in the middle of the day and worked later into the night, and not at all been bothered by that.
Yet it’s all been so much. Overwhelming. Stressful. Frightening. Dystopian. I’ve lost friends. I’ve lost my dad’s only sister although not of Covid- of ovarian cancer, and I miss her. Her zoom funeral did not allow for proper closure. But there wasn’t another choice. My dog died too. The outpouring of sympathy including a painting created by a childhood friend and shipped all the way from France renewed my belief in the power of love and art to heal our wounds. I’ve cried joyful tears watching a good friend get married on zoom and I’m excited to attend another zoom wedding later this month. A recent virtual baby shower was unexpectedly emotional and reassuring that life goes on. Babies are coming.
If someone asked me what I’ve learned living through this tumultuous time it’s that there are so many incredibly good, beautiful, kind, compassionate, caring, people out there and the love that they radiate is overwhelmingly more powerful than anything else.
As a child I never understood how people lived through World War II and then got on with their lives. I’d wonder how they were able to muster up the strength and the courage to do that. I was always so grateful I had not been born or lived through any of that time. I think I now know how that must’ve felt and I have a better understanding of resilience, of community, of how important it is to stay connected in whatever way we can. I’m not sure what the future will look like after all of this. But I am certain that I am better able to handle uncertainty than I would’ve been had we not been through this year of tumult, transition, and transformation.
