This again

Was it a respite or a release? (San Francisco, California, June 2021)

I am having trouble concentrating.

And I’m tired even though I slept all night.

And I feel unmotivated to do my work even though I love it.

I’m reconsidering the decisions I’ve made and the plans I have. The flights I booked and the hugs and handshakes.

I’m thinking about illness and death. Looking at the numbers. Wondering about people’s choices. Feeling powerless.

The joy and relief I got this spring and summer from seeing family and friends, from visiting faraway places, from relaxed conversations with strangers whose smiles I could see—all of these things gave me a lightness and hope. I did hard things, like catch up on my email and send off scary paperwork, without the angst and weariness that has slowed me down for so much of the pandemic.

And I’m glad I did it all while I could, for now I’ve sunk back into the torpid state that has characterized so much of the pandemic.

It didn’t take much. It was kind of like when I got my wisdom teeth out at age seventeen and hollered and cheered too enthusiastically at a field hockey game shortly thereafter, giving myself dry sockets. I guess I wasn’t fully healed.

By now I know that it’s a short way up and a long way down in terms of virus cases. I am steeling myself for the confusion, dismay, frustration, anxiety, fear, and losses to come. I’m already exhausted and a bit worried. I can’t even tell if it’s a reaction to what’s happening now or to what happened over the last eighteen months. Maybe it doesn’t matter.

So I’m back to conserving strength, conserving cash, and being best friends with my coffee mug. I’m back to just trying to get through. I’m back to a heightened state of awareness that makes me a bit sluggish at the same time, like I’m trying to use a computer that’s uploading a giant file.

I don’t know what’s going to happen. Usually, that doesn’t bother me. We never know what’s going to happen. But right now, there’s an open loop that I thought had been closed, a nagging sense of irresolution that influences even mundane decisions like going to the grocery store.

There’s no telling how long this situation will last, or the feelings that go along with it. It could be months, it could be a blip. But this is how I feel today, and sharing makes me feel a tiny bit better. A tiny bit less alone, when “alone” has a whole new meaning. I hope it makes you feel less alone, too.