Social Distancing Isn’t Burdensome. Solitude Is.
I hold out to the temptation of yet another YouTube video I’ve seen thrice within the past week, and reluctantly go to bed. My room snaps dark and silent, and I let my mind patronize the way I’ve spent my time because it’s an easier topic to land on. By the time I sleep, it’s 6 am.
I start my days with a shower to wash off hang-ups from the night before. Let’s start again. My dad calls me as I dry myself, and I stare at my phone. He then calls me over video and I remain without a flinch.
I fix my lunch in the kitchen. The stove and the oven are on at the same time. I turn on the stove fan to air out the smell of food, and mock the pitch of the fan. I harmonize with it and laugh to the sink. My mom texts me saying We want to video chat with you, and I turn up the stove fire.
I re-download Instagram and Twitter just to check if there are any emergent notifications. I watch the numbers of messages I ignore go up, and snicker. I uninstall them. I’m not really missing anyone. I feel obligated to miss people considering I can’t see them, but I fight the notion just to feel like I’m right even if it’s allusive.
The quarantine has been tough for a lot of obvious reasons I’m sure you are aware of; structure, money, uncertainty, restriction, and the collectively used phrase, social distancing. According to the CDC website, social distancing entails “keeping space between yourself and other people outside of your home [...] at least 6 feet (2 meters) from other people, not in groups and crowded places.”
In my practice, social distancing has been the easiest of the quarantine. Away from the grind of “work hard, play hard”, taking time off of some responsibility feels alleviating. There is, however, a looming weight that has no tie to work or physical health. Being six feet away from people doesn’t take away the irony that I can’t do the same with my feelings. Social distancing is not the burden. Solitude is.
My mental and emotional confrontation with myself limbos my work-related rest. Catching up on sleep feels disheartening when I spend my waking hours avoiding what really boils below the surface.
What concerns me above all was my autopilot prioritization of physical and financial survival pre-quarantine. Work overtook my direction, and any self-related inner work constituted as additive, and although admirable - not substantial. Sitting down for therapy 45 minutes once a week allowed me to reel in the gravity of my pace, even when I was reluctant to open up. My solitude realizes the selflessness of working a job. It realizes the (slow and small but) significant progress of therapy, and some days feel it even going the opposite direction.
The feelings are simple: I’m still hung up over the unresponsive fade of someone I really liked, and I’m oftentimes bitter that my talents are an unseen potential to people who have power to propel me to a full-time artistic career. When the world encourages a physical pause, my personal feelings run double the playback speed. When we resume working, will we resume the same habits? It’s taken me a global pandemic to face grief and frustration, not even in its entirety at best.
I’ve no denouement for the things that make me human. I go to bed after hours of movies and YouTube videos, accept the grief when my mind hits quiet, and fall asleep five minutes later. I call my parents back while eating lunch like I miss talking. I don’t. At least not right now. I spend the first two hours of waking up hugging my pillows. I’m already tired.
