We’ve officially been in pandemic mode for over a year. We went home from school and into lockdown in March 2020 on Friday the 13th. One year later, there’s a lot to reflect on. Almost too much, at least at the macro level. Quite a bit on a personal level, too. It’s interesting how we adjust to things and just keep plugging on. I’ve been fine… mostly. But over the weekend of the 13th, Taranne stayed with me. It’s the first time she’s been able to in well over a year. She’s fully vaccinated now, and so is her small medical unit, so when she called me to let me know her one weekend a month was approaching, we decided it was safe for her to stay here. And it was lovely.
But after she left, there was a noticeable absence. Her presence reminded me of how alone in the house I truly am now… and how isolated. I feel freer without Brian here, but it’s definitely a change. And I miss my cat.
Transitioning to living alone is one thing, but transitioning to living alone in the middle of a pandemic is another. It’s one of those things I’ll look back on as having taught me lots of life lessons. But I’m still too in the middle of it to understand the full depth and breadth of my mindset shift.
Sunday
I was sad to see Taranne go. I was also bummed March decided to be a bitch and get cold again. Snow flurries in the sky and chilly winds had me bumping the heat back up. At least I didn’t have to go anywhere in this shitty weather.
And at least I had my morning writing group. I can’t express how grateful I am for them. I’m calling us The Procrastinators now. On a meet, Corrine said, “Okay, your worst writing habit is your band name. Go.” It was something she’d scene on a writer’s forum or twitter hashtag… She shared that hers would be The Present Tense. We started talking about it and Joannie cut in. “Wait,” she said. “Wouldn’t we all be in a band together called The Procrastinators?” Mind you, this was around 6:45. Our meet started at 6:00 and we hadn’t gotten to writing yet.
Kurt jumped in, “That reminds me of The Proclaimers. Except we’ll walk 500 miles… tomorrow.”
Me: “Yes! That’s our first hit!”
Tracy: “Except it’s our only hit because we never get around to recording any more.”
Kurt: “We didn’t even mean to record that one. We were planning on recording it but someone got a bootleg copy.”
These are my people.
Monday
Without writing, I would have gone totally crazy this past year. I haven’t had much face-to-face human interaction, and I haven’t been able to do much. Writing has given me something to focus on. A purpose.
Tuesday
Another marker of time is finally receiving my professional certifications from the state that I’ve been waiting for since the end of last school year. I feel like I’m fully stepping into adulthood as a teacher now. No longer a newbie. And I leaned fully in when my co-teacher and I began planning our poetry unit for fourth marking period.
Joan: I sent you the unit packet we’ve used the last few years. It needs to be updated a little.
Me (looks it over, sees that four of the ten poems are written by Gary Soto and exactly zero of the ten were Maya Angelou, Edgar Allen Poe, or anything remotely contemporary): Oh for sure. We can definitely sub in some Kwame Alexander or maybe that Amanda Gorman poem…
Joan: I just meant it needed to be re-formatted for Google Classroom.
Me: Oh. But. Are we married to these poems?
Oh, Joan. I love her. She just laughed at me and told me to go for it. I revamped that sucker and am super excited to get into it with the kids when the time comes.
Wednesday
I’ve been told I need to work on being comfortable with mess and imperfection and the anxiety both of those things induce, so this week I practiced leaving my couch in disarray. This is my life. Practicing leaving pillows on the floor. When Taranne came, she seemed hesitant to move things— to put things out of place. I want my home to be welcoming and cozy, not stuffy and pristine. A home should be lived in, after all.
Thursday
By mid-week, March relented a bit and decided we could have some decent weather again. The smell of spring has wafted into the air, and it’s making me itch for a life outside this house.
Friday
Bailey Boo says: “You made it through another week! Looks like you could use some cuddles, though.”
She was right. We had a superintendent’s conference day and I went back into the building for the first time since September. It made me miss being back. I love my classroom and my kids and my colleagues. Essentially it had the same effect on me that Tarrane’s visit did. It made me realize how much I’ve had to adjust and how much I miss certain aspects of life before the pandemic.
Saturday
…Like going to the gym and having that community— and also having that focus on fitness. I still work out and do yoga, but it’s about maintenance now. It used to be about something more. I used to strive to build up muscles, endurance and capacity. Maintenance is nothing to scoff at— the goal is to be healthy. But I was healthier when I was strengthening my core, my arms, my legs… when I was increasing endurance for running, rowing, biking… when I was building up my ability to do pull-ups, handstand pushups, toes-to-bars…
Let’s be real: Who gives a shit how many ring dips I can do. Ultimately it doesn’t matter if you can do five pull-ups or ten, but feeling stronger does matter. If at the beginning of a year, I could do one toes-to-bar and at the end of the year I could do three, I felt more powerful. And that was meaningful. Not the amount of reps, but the fact that I was feeling healthier and more able.
Maybe this mindset is egged on by the disease I have, and the desire to stay connected to the athlete I once was, but I long for the day I can re-focus on fitness instead of just exercise.
Until that day, I’ll keep plugging on.