Well. I haven’t written in forever and I think I know why. It’s not from lack of trying. Seventy-two separate unpublished drafts attest to that. Rather, it’s because I started pressuring myself to be utterly brilliant, and nothing I’ve written as of late seemed good enough.
But really, who cares? At this point, not me.
For a while, I couldn’t deal with writing because I felt like everyone was going through the same challenges I was, and they were writing about it far better than I could, so there wasn’t any point attempting to join in on that conversation.
Now, though, I think what I’m dealing with might be slightly different than others.
Essentially, I’m still in lockdown when it feels like the rest of the world emerged from it ages ago.
I’ve been at home alone since March. I go to the supermarket, but nowhere else. I have seen friends a couple of times, but never more than one or two people at a time, always outside, always at an extreme distance. We bring our own chairs, glasses, drinks, food, utensils, and so on.
It feels like I’m the only one still doing this, though. And as cases are once again on the rise, I find my frustration building, as well.
I know there isn’t anything I can do about it, so I don’t try. I don’t say anything when I see people gathering together and not observing distancing guidelines. I keep my mouth shut when photos of maskless friends getting together are posted on social media. I consider it not my business. It’s their life and their decision.
Except, to a large degree, it isn’t. Because their actions are having a direct impact on me and others. The contagion continues to spread because people aren’t taking necessary precautions that would limit the spread.
It’s frustrating, to say the least.
I don’t have anything brilliant to say about it or anything else, though. Which is why I haven’t bothered posting in so long. I don’t have a witty conclusion to offer and I don’t judge others in such a way that motivates me to indulge in an impassioned tirade against them.
I’m just frustrated.
I am not, however, doing as poorly as one might. I am lucky in that it is not driving me nuts to be alone with my cats for months on end. I am grateful I am situated well because I can imagine how different my experience of this pandemic might have been if it had happened three or more years earlier. I am grateful. I am lucky.
My heart hurts for all those who are not so lucky, though. Folks who are not able to comfortably stay home, who do not have an emotional or physical safe space that they call home, or who simply are of a personality type that does not do well with solitude. Their pain and distress is very real. Which is likely why I don’t judge.
I just wish things were different. I wish, quite obviously and frankly, that we were not in the midst of a pandemic.
This will pass, I know, but right now is hard and it hurts for everyone in a broad variety of ways. I highly doubt anyone’s life is completely normal right now.
Pandemics suck. I look forward to this one being over.