I am on day 21 of quarantine - Or is it 28 - I am not sure. My choice in clothing has degraded from pants to sweat pants to pajama pants. I am out of fresh coffee beans and almost done with the backup Folger’s Tommy and I kept for emergencies. This is the worst of my hardships, meager compared to the outside world where the pandemic is ravaging New York City - my city. There are two sides to this story.
The first is my day-to-day. I interact with one person - my roommate Tommy - and FaceTime/Zoom with a few others. I wake up - join my gym for a workout class, work 9-to-5 (or more), get a walk or two in, cook dinner, play Rocket League, watch the Sopranos and go to sleep. It feels, well, normal. If I don’t read the newspaper for long enough, I sometimes forget the horror going on outside. I have some shame that I am not helping, but it also feels like I may help more by doing nothing. Perhaps, there are too many cooks in the kitchen - citizen scientists trying to contribute - and when dealing with a virus, more people means more chances for spread and confusion.
I feel loneliness - I miss my family and friends, but it doesn’t feel calamitous. My friends bounce between serious texts and memes - trying to keep humor in these desperate times. One’s family member has the virus, another is trapped at home with family, missing purpose in her life. My friend getting her Ph.D. is unsure how she will get samples for her project. Some of these problems are relatively small, others are profoundly large. We fluidly move between serious topics and discussing the revelation of Drake’s kid, Adonis. Our lives are normal and absurd at the same time.
Source: NYTimes
The second is the world-at-large. It seems like it’s falling to shit. I live in Chelsea, by a fire station. The ambulances have been leaving the station more frequently each day. Any time I read the New York Times or Wall Street Journal, I see a map that shows the growing spread of cases, looking like boils growing bigger and bigger. According to this map, 1% of people in my zip code have tested positive for the virus. The true number is surely higher - I’m living in the epicenter.
Words like “jaw-dropping” and “historic” litter titles. Some of the shocks around the magnitude of the virus have worn off and this feels like the new normal. Societal questions ranging from “How do we support our unprotected health care workers?” to “how do we prevent unemployment from hitting 20-30%+?” are normal parts of public discourse. Sometimes I take early morning walks to get outside before the streets get too crowded and I see people who are facing both questions head-on - risking their health to make money for themselves or their family. Construction workers/nurses/clerks who are headed to work with coffee in hand, whether they want to be or not. The costs of the pandemic are not just viral, but economic, social, and psychological.
Every day at 7 PM people pop their heads out of their windows to clap for the public service workers who are battling it on the front lines. My roommate and I join in, popping our heads out the window to join in the applause. It feels like all I can do. Sometimes, I am walking by the line of ambulances around the corner at this time. I try to clap extra loud. Almost as if by clockwork, one races off, presumably to help yet another victim.