The reality of The Season
“Time, time time, see what's become of me.” - Paul Simon (Photo of the Musée d’Orsay clock by valentinsimon0)
A friend’s five-year-old has taken to calling the time of coronavirus “The Season.”
She doesn’t like The Season: No school, porch visits only, masks and physical distance. Right there with ya, kid.
It’s important to me to have a sense of ease in my work — but discomfort is also a key element of growth. The harmony between these two states is what keeps us learning effectively. We want to see juuuuust the right amount of discomfort melting into ease again and again, little by little, like adding flour to your eggs and butter.
In The Season, however, I’ve had to recalibrate. Tasks that are normally breezy and satisfying are grinding my gears. I set out to do some research and feel my eyelids grow heavy. I hit “send” on an email and find myself staring into my lap, breathing silently for a thirty-second recovery period. I pick up my phone indiscriminately and click on whatever is there. I can’t get a handle on decisions that need to be made.
These are feelings that I have at the end of a long work session — these are usually the clues that it’s time to take a break or try something else. I’m not used to feeling this way right when I sit down.
In an attempt to find the ease I’m used to, I’ve taken plenty of breaks and days off. But when I return to work, the same listlessness arises. Some days are better than others, but this is where I am right now. It’s just The Season.
Grief, stress, and anxiety drain our energy so quickly that we’re not left with much to work with. Things have to get done anyway. Rather than resisting the work or putting it off until I feel better, I am accepting that tasks are going to take longer than they usually do and be a bit more challenging as well. There’s a lot of staring out the window, jumping jacks, yoga, and when all else fails, coffee.
I don’t have a solution or a helpful reframe of the current circumstances. I can’t point toward a future time when we all might feel light and carefree again. We’ve been at this for only a few months — I can only imagine the way it felt to live through years of war and upheaval, as so many generations have done before us. Such suffering seems to be a fundamental aspect of human existence. There is a bit of comfort in that, I suppose — and a sense of hope that, even in the season of the pandemic, people are working together for justice and change.
I have no control over how long The Season will last. I can’t change whether people spread the virus — I can’t even get people to stop roller-skating and biking on the tennis courts at the local high school. I’m just one person — a person who can barely keep up with her own email. Accepting my limitations has made it easier to deal with the initial frustration of not being able to function at my peak level. Ironically, my more realistic expectations allow me to make the most of the moments I can think clearly. Day by day, I’m working through the fog to contribute what I can. It’s enough.
