In-Tension

To everyone else, it was New Year’s Day, a day for revelry, hangovers, and sleepy-sounding text messages. To me, it was Day 3 of COVID-19 Isolation. Having that emphatic “Yes” on the COVID test wasn’t in the plan; neither was the feeling of a saber-toothed tiger in my throat or the sticky feverish feeling that reminded me of every vaccination or booster. Perhaps that’s how I knew, intuitively, what it was before even taking the test.

A good part of being sick is that it knocks me fully down. Nowhere else do I give myself permission to laze about, sleeping in, taking afternoon naps, reading, and re-reading books that I’ve purchased throughout the year. Never before have I spent so much time in our guest room, still admiring the paint color that we chose six years ago. Daydreaming about putting the same color on different walls, in a different house, in a different state, perhaps a different country.

Logically, there’s no better time to get COVID than the first week of the new year, when people remember what their jobs entailed after a few days’ holiday: follow up, circle back, tune in, turn on, drop out. The truth is, it’s a small blessing, really.* Taking this forced extra-break has allowed me to confront the feelings of weariness that plagued December. Even LinkedIn, a normally pleasant online connection pool, has become swampy as of late.

Towards the end of each month, our intrepid local police officers wait at the base of the hill to catch speeders and meet their monthly quota. Ironically, my online life has felt more and more like that: people are waiting. Whether it’s via emails, LinkedIn messages, or the myriad of other correspondence out there, everyone has something to push and sell. Technology is amazing, but after a few days’ holiday (the proper one, in a zero WiFi area after Christmas), this weariness has clarified itself to become part overwhelm, part annoyance, part fatigue, part understanding. Everyone has bills to pay, money to make, quotas to hit, product to push… yet when did we start selling so aggressively? When did we become so desperate to make a buck?

When did we start demanding that other people clutter their lives on our behalf, just so we could feel relevant?

At the times I need it the most, Switchfoot’s “Let That Be Enough” tends to fly into my head. The chorus sums up the feeling of the song quite well:

When is life “enough”? What amount of money is “enough”? What defines “enough” success for each of us? For me, it’s sunsets around my small family; fires outside with a bottle of Scotch and stories; cold hikes in the woods. That is my enough; what’s yours?

In her beautiful standup special “Nanette”, Hannah Gadsby walks the audience through the tension she creates in the room. And there is quite a bit of tension. I remember needing to remind myself to breathe through some of the more tense sections of her standup. Yet all of that beautiful tension brings the whole room together, enraptured with her stories. This tension brings a different nuance to the word “tension” than we normally connect with it: it’s still stressful, with staccato breaths, furrowed brows, and a sense of trepidation. Yet it’s also a collective tension.

I think what’s been noticeable about the online world as of late is that there’s a collective tension, a collective scarcity mindset of not ever getting “enough”. If “enough” was a bar of Wonka’s chocolate, we’re a far cry from Grandpa Joe dancing in his nightclothes.

It’s a world in tension, without intention.

In a span of 48 hours in December, I went to the wrong government building (after driving 30 minutes and organizing my entire day around it), got lost on the same city subway that I used to have memorized like the back of my hand, paid $20 for someone to drive me to where I needed to go, got lost within that building (after essentially being strip-searched because I forgot my phone was in my back pocket); all to pick up a piece of plastic I probably won’t have use for and will lose or forget, like the day I completely blanked and forgot my phone’s PIN. There was little to no intention in December, and my only survival mechanism was to rely on the grace of others.

Let my micro-lessons of slowing down be a lesson (or cautionary tale, depending on your mood). By now, we know prolonged stress isn’t the way; neither is gritting your teeth and pushing through. The one thing I was missing, though, was the isolation. Being alone has allowed me to come home to myself.** There are only so many distractions, avoidance strategies, and stress-dreams that can happen in a single room before a gentle reprieve comes blowing in.

You’re the only one in charge of the energy, intent, and actions that you take. Let that be enough.

*Of course, I’m privileged AF that I can work from anywhere, make my own schedule, and our home layout is conducive to self-isolation. COVID itself is a deadly disease that’s much better with a vaccination and masking. Stay safe, people!

**Books that helped along this journey: “Wintering” by Katherine May, “A Year in Practice” by Jacqueline Suskin, “A Short History of Nearly Everything” by Bill Bryson, and “The Art of Gathering” by Priya Parker.