Google Calendar in the Time of Coronavirus

Featured image from by Kaboompics .com from Pexels.

I remember looking at my Google Calendar for the spring a few weeks ago and wanting to cry. 

Between work and classes and trips home for the spring holidays and chorus competitions and social outings, there was very little white space, time I knew I’d have for myself, on this digital representation of the season. And I also knew that those rare white spaces would eventually get filled in with freelance assignments, study sessions, workouts and date nights as I can’t seem to leave any hour unscheduled. 

Part of me was excited for all these things; I’m doing my best not to sign myself up for things I don’t actively want to participate in. And part of me, the extremely anxious, overwhelmed and overextended part, wanted to wave a magic wand and make it all disappear. 

Careful what you wish for, am I right? 

I’d been consuming content on COVID-19, particularly in podcast format (shout out to What a Day), since news of the Wuhan outbreak broke in January. I knew it was a matter of time before it showed up on our shores, but the painfully optimistic part of me believed we would be more prepared for it. I had moments of panic when I heard doctors describe the virus and the draconian measures the Chinese government was taking to contain the spread. I was less worried about getting the virus (there’s a small feeling of invincibility that comes along with beating swine flu twice in 2009) than I was about being quarantined in my studio apartment in New York. I love my space, but the longest I’ve managed to stay there without my mental health taking a dip is about 36 hours. I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to feed myself or care for myself if I did get sick. I basically forbid my parents from trying to take care of me if that were the case, lest I infect them. Ultimately, I knew I would be fine. I just needed to limit my news consumption. And I needed to carry on as if my busy spring would still be busy. 

And then things started to get real in New York. Three days after celebrating my acceptance into a school-sponsored program that would take me to the Cannes Lions Festival, NYU halted all non-essential international travel and put all programs on hold. Then our classes went remote, first until the end of March, then mid-April, then the rest of the semester. My office started working from home. My chorus cancelled rehearsals. Our two spring competitions got cancelled. Events were postponed or nixed outright. I got diagnosed with eczema (unrelated, but distressing nonetheless). 

I feel a bit guilty acknowledging the slight sense of relief I felt as my schedule started to clear up. I was really looking forward to everything I had planned for the spring, including some events that are a big part of my year. But I admit that I was deeply overwhelmed and unsure of how I’d handle everything. I’d already backed out of one big commitment earlier in February just to take something off my plate. 

But now that I’ve been sent on a mandatory break, I don’t want it. My empty calendar makes me way sadder and more overwhelmed with uncertainty about the future than my full one ever did. 

I was scheduled to go home the weekend the shit hit the fan; I hadn’t been home since the holidays and was very much looking forward to getting out of the city. As things got worse, it became clear that my trip home might be a lot longer than I originally planned. I’ve now been home for nearly two weeks, living and working in my childhood bedroom. It’s the right thing for me - staying in my apartment in an increasingly apocalyptic Manhattan would have been brutal on my mental health. At least here I can take long (socially distanced) walks around the neighborhood, work out without annoying my neighbors, spend time with my parents and work at an ACTUAL DESK (if anything, this time is proving how badly I need a real desk in my apartment). I recognize that having somewhere else to stay during this time is a HUGE privilege and I’m grateful to my folks every day for bringing me home. 

And yet, the grief for my old life comes in waves. Though we’re still digitally connected, I miss my friends terribly. Between work and grad school, I haven’t been able to hang out with them as much as I’d like anyway, but the distance makes things more acute. I’m terribly worried about what this will all mean for my future; grad school is a bit of an anchor but facing unemployment in a time of massive hiring freezes and layoffs is not ideal. I miss just being able to go to the beer bar across the street for from my apartment for a pilsner and a grilled cheese but just making a CVS run the other day filled me with so much anxiety that I had to take an hour-long nap as soon as I got home (and stripped off my clothes, sanitized everything I bought and showered). I’m worried that, as much as I want and need to get out in the world as soon as doctors give the all clear, my anxiety will keep me chained to my bed. 

I’m doing the best I can here, building in all the little routines you’re supposed to keep to stay sane. I meditate, I work out every day, I get lots of sleep, I keep some semblance of a schedule so I can actually get things done when I need to. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. I take a lot of Sad Naps. I oscillate between trying to motivate myself to write my magnum opus during this time and congratulating myself for just getting a blog post out. I think that’s human. 

If you’re just getting through the day, that’s worthy of congratulations. This shit is hard for all of us, on different levels. It’s making us rethink our systems and it’s making me more of a socialist every day. 

I’m starting my Saturn Return in a time that feels like a Saturn Return for the entire world, and if I know anything about astrology (I know comparatively little), it’s that we’ll come out of this reckoning stronger. 

At least that’s what I’m choosing to believe.