Before we laugh, let’s get real. This is all very, very hard. My mood swings up and down throughout the day, every day, and for me, each day is harder.
Each day in America, there is both more and less of the important, hard stuff: more death, more generalized worry, more frustration at every level all around. There are not enough tests, masks, protective gowns, toilet paper, Lysol spray. The curves are not flattening, a few states persist in refusing to issue orders to close non-essential businesses and to stay at home, many Faux News watchers continue to aver and behave like the virus is a hoax, a liberal ploy to “get the president.” Earlier this week, a friend in North Carolina said the woman checking her out at the grocery store repeatedly told her that the virus isn’t real; many around her agreed.
Gun sales and domestic violence incidents are skyrocketing, people are telling their loved ones goodbye via FaceTime, people are losing jobs and sinking into debt or poverty, our donated diapers and peanut butter and dried pasta nowhere close to filling the gap of need. Others who have spent decades building careers and identities of which they are proud and find deeply fulfilling are attempting to work from home while homeschooling and cleaning and cooking and on and on, feeling stretched in new, disconcerting, enervating ways. Children miss their friends and teachers and the lives they are attempting to forge beyond home and away from parents. Personally, as a very extroverted introvert, I am finding the complete lack of uninterrupted alone time enormously hard to bear.
Psychically, we are all frazzled and taut, our outlets largely dimmed, our connections largely severed. The reserves we may have had are being rapidly drained, and there is no end in sight.
Earlier today, we received confirmation that this school year is done. Kids will learn via distance learning through June 4, and all graduations will be conducted in some distance manner. We all knew this was coming, but the finality of the email was tough to swallow. The kids are crushed, the parents are wrecked. trump tells us to just take the hydroxychloroquine (not proven; some have already died after taking this snake oil), that we don’t need to wear the masks, that re-opening things at Easter just “sounds like a beautiful time” to do so.
We have no leaders beyond the governors who are stepping up and the front line medical teams who do their jobs despite the lack of federal support they’re getting. The people who tell the truth get fired (see: Navy Captain Crozier, and Inspector General Atkinson), Jared seems to think the federal stockpile is not at all for the states, and trump joked about screwing models, but not the scientific ones, during a press conference in which updated death totals were announced.
So, shit’s bad. It’s hideous, really. Shameful, disgusting, scary, enraging. My fury levels are off the charts. Everyone I know is furious, stunned, and exhausted. And no one wants to be told to just be more positive. Most of us really are doing our best. Some days, some moments are better, easier, more successful than others.
Of course in all this is humor, connection, love, generosity, innovation, and community. Those are the things that always have and always will sustained us. Without them, we are very little, and deservedly so. As the Resistance has gotten us through so many of the shocking, terrifying times since November 9, 2016, funny, decent, determined, clever people today are getting us through this very odd time. Some are famous, some are important, many are simply regular folks, and I am thankful for all.
I can’t even count how many people I know are organizing donation drives and fundraisers, sewing masks, giving money, and shopping for older and immunocompromised friends, family, and neighbors. Before I go to the store, I text my neighbors to see what they might need; they do the same when they head out. When I do run out for groceries, most people (not all) adhere politely and patiently to taped-off distancing measures and longer wait times. Behind most of even the largest N95s, scarves, bandanas, and other “masks,” you see smiling cheekbones and looks of understanding, kindness, and camaraderie. Via Zoom, I see familiar peers in yoga classes, my kids see their classmates and teachers, we enjoy cocktails and catch-ups with friends, Tom works, the boys visit with family, I hear and write back to many of you.
But still there is loneliness and anxiety and sleeplessness and boredom. Big plans and daily goals and dashed hopes and just getting to bedtime. There is wondering when we’ll see family again, who will stay safe, what the kids will learn and when they’ll return to school, who will suffer most and how and worrying so much for them all. I, myself, have wondered how Daniel Craig is so jacked but looks so slim in perfect 007 suits.
With all that shared, let’s attempt to laugh, shall we?
Who wore it best?
