"While in the midst of horror we fed on beauty - and that, my love, is what sustained us." - from "Transit" by Rita Dove.
It is hard to pinpoint time. The nadir of the pandemic seems to keep descending lower and lower with new outbreaks and mutated strains of the Coronavirus around the globe. I am trying to trace the beginnings exactly. Maybe it starts with March 2020 for me. I remember barely being able to move from the bed to the computer in the spring of last year, just as the entire world shut down and everyone moved indoors. My workplace shut down and conducting business over Zoom became the new normal in a world where nothing seemed normal anymore.
Back then, none of us knew how long this pandemic would last or what it would eventually mean for our jobs, friendships, schools, or families. I felt angry at all the chatter emanating from all the social media channels. I even wrote a blog post that referenced Shakespeare writing King Lear during another such pandemic, the bubonic plague - the idea that the pandemic was a dark gift to get your great, masterful projects done. I, however, was feeling exhausted and actually welcomed the respite.
That was then. This is now. Still feeling the wariness of the entire pandemic-fueled culture in which we find ourselves almost two years later, as we stand on the threshold of another year filled with looming shutdowns and postponements and Christmas flight cancellations caused by the pandemic.
Everything back then was being postponed or canceled until a fuzzy, future fall. E-mails, especially business-related ones, were filled with question marks. I lamented the loss of money, but I also felt somewhat relieved. I felt an unfamiliar loosening in my chest, a sense of ease. I did not want to write. I only wanted to read and seek inspiration from others. I did not even want to produce anything. I was mainlining the news, scrolling social media like a slot-machine junkie. I needed to be numb for a moment, consumed.
I had known the effects of burnout before, or at least being on the brink of it. Why did no one stop me? Why did I not stop myself and say I was hurting? My body was breaking down and bleeding, shouting for me to stop, but I was not listening. All I knew was I had to keep going. I thought I could not afford to stop. Or, more terrifying, that I was afraid of stasis.
But the pandemic - even almost two years out - has made us all stand still and face our own brand of nonsense. I was forced to slow down and evaluate my constant need for validation and approval; the fact that I did not know how to love myself properly. I started bucking against the notion that my self-worth was tied somehow to my productivity and value in the marketplace of ideas. I told myself it was okay to do nothing. I really had nothing new to say in the shock of the moment as it was unfolding before us.
Then came the murder of George Floyd and the whole need to recognize the importance of hatred, bigotry and racism in America. The blood and bruises from history or current events will always be present in my writings, implicitly or explicitly. But I question the impulse of real-time instant replay and reenacting my own pain through my writing.
What happened in May 2020 in Minneapolis was tragic full stop, but it was also nothing novel in American culture. It was black synecdoche: another black story with a different black neck; another black man crying for his mother under the boot of white brutality. The only thing that was different about this egregious, racist act was that white people had the time and space to stop for eight minutes and 46 seconds to watch a viral video and the social capital to evaluate themselves and their responses amid a global pandemic.
I often wrestle with the dueling parallelism of having nothing to say and fighting the notion that everything has been said. Is there anything new to say about it all or am I just retreading the houses of history through which everyone else has already cycled?
Things that hurt too much to say is sometimes all that can be said in response to constant terror and threat, specifically to this moment in our collective history and global consciousness.
What does it mean to constantly have to respond creatively to breaking news? And is it always healthy to respond with art? There is some grit and tenacity involved in smoothing out the rawness of making it wilder in its rawness. Either way, there is work. I worry over lines like rosary beads. I edit. I call a friend and read it aloud to see how it lands on the ear. I start over again. I recycle a line from something that did not work.
All I am saying is that it takes precious time to cultivate and process that knowing not-knowingness inside a piece of writing.
In the latter half of last year, I seemed to come back online after a much-needed hibernation. I got out of my chair in front of the computer and started a new routine as I returned to work as normal. I began to walk around outside again. I was trying to feed on beauty in the midst of fear. What was happening around the world was beyond heartbreaking: millions dying and all of us stuck at home reeling and spinning out, especially during the onslaught of the 2020 presidential election.
The Internet, in some small way, helped to rescue us all from the tumult of the pandemic and the aftermath of the election. Beyond filmed amusements and cat clips, the Internet brought us books and music, as sales of audio books soared during the past two years. I found some solace in a book from Amazon, the once unknown bookseller that now rakes in billions a year, which found a way to capitalize on our angst. It chose to feature one particular title that I found very appropriate: How to Be Happy (Or at Least Less Sad). Ah, so caring, that Amazon.
I tried new ways of surviving: I turned off the news and looked for ways to support those around me who were also living in darkness.
Surviving has been the overall goal of everyone during the past two years. Yes, we still mourn those whom we have lost because of the pandemic, but we rejoice with those who have survived to once again reach for the sunlight and walked through the tunnel to the other side.
As we approach another new year, let us all reflect back on what has been and realize we can survive whatever comes our way.
Because, after all, we have survived another year.
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