Pandemic days. Every day is not the same. That is a myth perpetrated by nostalgia. I’ve clocked many hours on Zoom (a platform I knew nothing about 8 weeks ago). I wonder if the blue light protection in my glasses is diminished every time I clean the lenses. Thoughts ricochet like pandemic pinball. I think about snacks. I think about hydration. I have no-Zoom days but they are few. I take regular breaks to ensure I get my water intake. Today I am craving only the astringent bite of coffee.
Also today, the WiFi crashed. The boys, adolescents who subsist on Fortnite and YouTube have unravelled after an hour. They are banished from the house. It is warm and sunny but they resist. I cannot wait to get out, away from the blue light and into the golden day, there’s been nothing but wind and rain for the past three days. My walks are not daily but that is what I call them. Sometimes I return and have a dance party for one. I’m a creative person but my creativity in quarantine surprises me.
I’ve made no-sew masks out of t-shirts. I’ve made oat milk. I’m soaking soybeans to make soy milk although I did not drink soy milk in the days before. I’ve created a self-tape home studio for auditions. I had many self tape auditions in the days before but never dedicated the time to put one together. I’ve taken a workshop to construct my own sound booth, whether it happens is another thing. I’ve baked! I was not a baker in the days before. I am currently less enamored of the sourdough bread making process but that may change again. I still eat as much bread as I did in the days before.
The days are not the same. Today I have been intolerant of food requiring more than a knife. Meal one was avocado toast and snack one was cornbread slathered with salty butter. It was baked by my sister and had sweet morsels of surprise kernels. Snack two was my failed poundcake. Meal two was a grilled cheese with the tang of mustard. Everything paired well with coffee.
But just days ago I roasted cauliflower steaks with homemade romesco sauce, and concocted an herbed caper sauce for a roasted veg medley. I was in a different mood.
Life is a constant improvisation. It was in the days before as well but I was under the impression it was a choice. And because it was a choice I had the impression I was in control. Impressions and illusions. I do not need internet to continue writing and yet I am completely distracted from getting this post done. I fret about all the things I’m not getting done. I wonder about how I’m spending my days. Am I doing enough? I’ve taken poetry classes, video editing classes, endless audition technique and AMA’s with casting directors. I’ve read five books in nine weeks. I’ve signed petitions and written letters. But should I be learning the Sonnets? Should I write a script? Should I have a dozen new monologues memorized for when this is over? When will this be over? Is this the best use of my time?
What is the best use of my time?
I finally took the time and found a simple answer. Take care of my mind, body and spirit. Check in with those I love and uplift their spirits if needed. The details will vary but those are the broad stroke answers. So what is the difference really between these pandemic days and the days before?
The details. It’s always in the details. Distractions create the illusion that it’s otherwise. I overcomplicated my objectives in the time before the pandemic. And I’m doing it now.
Look at all the things I’m doing! Look how I’ve taken control of the situation! I take a step back to put things in perspective. Soy milk? Seriously? The oat milk was an imperfect experiment I don’t need to repeat.
I want to embrace the extra space of these days. There are a lot of options to achieve the balance I seek, I don’t have to do them all. There are a lot of things I can do to keep my artist muscles flexed, I don’t have to do them all.
What are you doing for your well-being? I’m curious if you care to share.
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