Tag Archives: coping in the pandemic

Travelling in Troubling Times

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Fires near Kelowna BC. Photo Credit: The Canadian Press.

British Columbia, the province in which I live, has just issued fire-zone travel bans in response to unprecedented wildfires. Evacuations are underway. Non-emergency vehicles are not needed on the roads while people try to escape to somewhere else.

I wonder: how long will any of us be travelling anymore?

I am disinclined to fly anywhere anymore. At least not for pleasure. (But seriously, the pleasure of flying ended a long time ago. Cramped, uncomfortable seats, intolerable security lines, unexplained delays, and so much more have made flying an experience to get through rather than one to enjoy.) For me, the end of masking made flying dangerous to my health. It’s a grand opportunity to catch SARS-CoV-2. A recent study found over 80% of US flights had Omicron RNA in the wastewater, and the number of people coughing or otherwise visibly ill on the two flights I have taken since the start of the pandemic easily convinced me that flying is a bad idea for me unless absolutely necessary.

I took those two flights wearing a respirator and carrying a personal air purifier.

Me, waiting for a flight in November 2022. Funny/Not funny story. I was in the Air Canada Lounge and this woman not 15 feet away from me was having her snack and complaining to her friend that she didn’t even know why she was eating because she couldn’t taste anything. She said, ”Isn’t that weird?” No. Not so much weird as it is SARS-C0V-2. I moved to the other side of the lounge, where, likely, someone else had it too.

By 2019 standards, I looked ridiculous. By pandemic standards, I look just fine, at least to me. (Although I also look disastrously tired in this photo. It had been a long and difficult trip. And I can tell you, people stared.)

But what has really landed me in my own personal no-fly zone is the climate crisis. One of the half dozen or so truly impactful things I can do to reduce greenhouse gas emissions is to stop flying, or at least stop flying except when absolutely necessary.

What constitutes absolutely necessary? For me, the two air travel trips I have taken since the start of the pandemic were to prevent looming family crises. The thing is, we’ve come of age at a time when it is typical to live far away from family, and I do. Air travel made it possible to live like this and still be involved. Sometimes, I will have to travel by air if we want to be in touch on vital family matters. For me, I have decided this is necessary.

If I’m going, if I’m going to burn up all that carbon, I’ll make the absolute most of it. I combined the first trip with a book tour. To be clear, I would not have taken the book tour to Toronto if there also hadn’t been important family matters to attend to.

A vacation with air travel is a whole other thing. I can’t justify it anymore.

This summer, my partner and I drove our hybrid vehicle on our vacation as we camped and visited friends. Nothing is perfect, you know? Driving is better than flying. But it’s not great. There’s no holier than thou going on here. (One of my new favourite expressions is ”granolier than thou.”) I am by no means the person who lives an exemplary life. Like all of us, I’m struggling to learn how to live in our new pandemicene era. I’m just sharing one of my own personal decisions, a judgement I made for myself—not for others.

It’s a privilege to travel in so many ways, one which I acknowledge and am grateful to have had. I am giving up a privilege. I’m not giving up clean water. But it’s also not like giving up turnips, which I do not like. That would be easy to do. I’m giving up possibility. I’m giving up something with positive associations. It’s been a long journey to first recognize and then deal with the new negative associations. And the airline industry hasn’t helped. I would get daily offers from Air Canada and Aeroplan in my inbox. I finally unsubscribed.

And what about driving? Some of the areas of BC that we travelled through by car this summer are now, just a few weeks later, ablaze. Our road trip did not help. I’m grappling with that. Earlier this summer, I read a news story about planes full of tourists continuing to land in Greece even though the country was in a state of emergency because of wildfires. A sister of a friend is flying to Maui in September. It just feels bad to me. It feels bad for me. It is not something I would do. Again, I make that judgement for myself. I’m not saying no one should ever go to Maui or Greece again. They depend on tourism. Or at least they have until now.

Now it seems they need their resources for themselves. Last November, we drove through the region where Lytton is, and there were signs asking people not to visit. Of course, we did not go there. I get it. No one needs a bunch of lookie-loos. People need to grieve, to regroup, to kick the ashes. And they don’t need me trying to buy a sandwich while they do it.

So, for now, rather than travelling in troubling times, I’ll be staying close to home. I’ll be revelling in the joys of the here and now, in the small pleasures of my glorious neighbourhood. That’s not anything to be upset about.

 

Struggling in the jolly season.

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‘Tis the season to be jolly. Whatever you celebrate, whether it be Solstice or Hanukah or Christmas, or anything else (including the arrival of so many extra cookies and treats) I hope you are able to find peace and contentment in the season. I’m struggling.

Maybe you are struggling too.

Many of us are keeping the holidays very differently than we used to. Some are back to big get togethers, but I suspect there is friction, a little cognitive dissonance gnawing at the edges of whatever is happening.

Me? We’re keeping a quiet holiday. Just the three of us. Daughter arrived a week ago before the storms made travel almost impossible and worked ”from home” from our home until Friday. She had been isolating the week before, tested negative (as did all of us) and we are all in it together now for another couple of days.

We are not joining the big family gathering 4000 miles away for two reasons: we were just there in November and my desire to be indoors in a large group is zero. So we had our visit in November and somehow, miraculously, managed to make it back without getting sick. We took all kinds of precautions, but we were also lucky. 

I’ve been called a fear-monger on the socials. Ok. Yes, I am fearful of catching a disease we still know hardly anything about. The likelihood of getting long covid is twice that of being hurt in a car accident. If anyone is really interested, I’ll try and find the source for that figure. It stuck with me. I’m not so good with the memory stuff right now because I have a brain injury. 

So yeah. I’m being careful. My ”recovery,” such as it is, has been too hard won. And incomplete, even now, almost seven years later. I can’t go back. And SARS-CoV-2 causes brain damage (among so many other things).

I miss entertaining. I used to have big parties. Big holiday things. Big non-holiday things. But those days are over for now. And I’m grieving. Much and all as I do not want to be at the family gathering, I miss the family gathering. If that makes any sense. I even miss shopping. And I hate shopping. I miss things I hated in the before times. I miss the before times.

And I’m worried about those who are gathering. Will it be another superspreader Christmas? I want to be wrong. You have no idea how much I want to be wrong.

And even though I’m safe and cozy here with my beloved husband and daughter, and so grateful, I feel a pall over everything. Sometimes I feel absolute fury. Other times I feel merely disappointed. Oh, how I’d love to be wrong. But I’m not. I want to yell from the rooftops about what it takes to keep safer, how it’s not actually that hard, how it’s worth it. But no one wants to hear that. Tonight they want to party like it’s 2019.

Ok.

So the jolly season is not so jolly for me. I’m grateful. I’m warm and loved and privileged to have a turkey in the oven as I write. But there’s an edge to it all. I’m worried sick about people who have had SARS-CoV-2 three times. Two times. Once. I’m worried about those who pretend that’s not what they have. Or had. Yeah, maybe it’s not. But maybe it is. I’m worried we aren’t testing, tracing, tracking, learning. I’m worried that public health officials have abandoned their posts and debased their positions. I’m worried.

Like all of you, I’m doing my best. So ’tis the season.

On Languishing in the Pandemic

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Month 13–or is it 14?–of the pandemic, and I am languishing. I did not have that particular word in mind until I read an article about languishing by Adam Grant in the NYT. I had been thinking maybe it was ennui, or maybe disinterest, and was sometimes even wondering if I had become hopelessly lazy.

That’s not it.

I told my husband I was unmotivated, which is true. Confessed it, actually. I am NOT normally an unmotivated person. In his article, Adam Grant says something about being indifferent to indifference and that feels right. I am indifferent to my indifference, disinterested in my disinterest. Maybe you feel the same.

I know I’m lucky. I can work from home and shelter where I am, relatively safe. I get groceries delivered. I am grateful to all of the workers who are keeping us all going and I advocate for their safety literally every day.

Part of it is certainly that while the world celebrates the arrival of vaccines (as do I), Ontario is worse off than ever because of a feckless provincial government. We have higher case numbers than ever and our ICUs are overflowing. Refrigerator morgue trucks are next. It didn’t have to be this way.

So, I try to focus on what I can control. I have a new project on the go. But I am not writing much now. My concentration is poor. It’s also my fifth crashiversary this week, which doesn’t help. Five years of brain injury. My lack of concentration isn’t just about the pandemic. I have been in some state of languishing for a while.

And even if my writing is stalled, there is other work to do. As two projects make their way through to publication, they need bits of my attention. I will get a galley to proof next week. There are questions about marketing. A plan must be made.

I have other projects I could pick up outside of work, things I would usually enjoy. I have wool enough to make six hats which I planned on giving as gifts next Christmas. I need to sew the collar on a summer shirt I am making (polka dots!) and then it will be done. Maybe ten minutes of work. It is sitting beside the sewing machine. Languishing. I could make an interesting dinner. Or I could just scramble a few eggs. I could go for a walk. There are people in my life to care for. Some of them are also languishing and how can I support them when I am too? A birthday cake must be baked. Doing things for others is usually something that cheers me up. The ingredients are all on my kitchen counter, waiting. My seedlings need replanting. The tomatoes are growing well, if a little spindly. Some of them are just lying down, like I want to. I have to stake them up with bamboo skewers.

Meh.

I need a bamboo skewer for me. What will that be? Sometimes, admitting you have a problem is the first step.

This is a “fake it till you make it” time if there ever was one. Time to fake some enthusiasm. Fake a sense of flourishing. As my character Alden often says to herself in Patterson House, “Buck up.” Wish me luck. I wish you luck too. We can do it.

Rosie the Riveter
Rosie the Riveter saying “We Can Do It”

Maybe I’ll have a nap first.

Gratitude in 2020

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Gratitude? In 2020? This year of disruption and staggering losses? Yes.

The Humber River, Toronto, a view from one of my regular walks that inspires gratitude.

I’m grateful:

1. For Clarity. My vision is 20/20. I know what matters. People. Community. Love. And the earth which supports it all. And I know what doesn’t matter. Whether my hair is cut. Things. Productivity and other cudgels of capitalism. Just as I was wondering if humanity is doomed, I got to witness how we can change our collective priorities quickly.

2. For People. I am grateful for family, thick and thin friends, the kindness of strangers, neighbours, delivery people, doctors, nurses, teachers…everyone. I am grateful for the enthusiasms of my community and the skills and talents they have shared throughout the year.

3. For Slowness. I have a brain injury, and I have required a slower pace since 2016. In the before-time, I fought this need. I thought it was something I had to change. I thought that regaining my old pace was a goal and would be a mark of my recovery. Not anymore. I have learned to embrace my slow pace. It’s a relief. In part, I have been able to do this because everyone else had to slow down too.

4. For Solitude. I miss my people. (See 2.) But. (See 3.) I can do things AND be alone. While others complain about life on Zoom, for me (and many other people with disabilities) Zoom means accessibility. I can participate while not having to negotiate so many other things. I can lower the volume, focus on a single speaker, dim the brightness. Sure, real life is better. But having something is better than nothing, and I am grateful for everything I have been able to participate in because of Zoom. I can only hope that when this is over, the avenues of access that have opened so the able-bodied and neurotypical can carry on will remain open for the rest of us. Will every literary festival make on-line access possible? Will readings still be on line? Will I be able to listen to a concert on line or see a show? I hope so.

5. For Breath. Breath is life. The virus makes breathing a struggle and even takes it away. There has been so much death. I have struggled for breath before. I don’t take it for granted. A quarter century of meditation practice has blossomed in this time. Whatever is happening in me and around me, I am here, breathing. When anxiety or worry threaten to overwhelm, I know that some seed of me, some essence of me, is fine. I am breathing. I am fine. 

6. For Conservation. Or whatever the opposite of consumerism is. I am grateful for getting by with what I have. For making do. For repairing things. It is a better way to live. I will never go back. 

7. For Health. This is more than being grateful I have been spared this terrible virus to date. With life so much smaller, I have tended to my health, my total health, in a more focussed way. I have established a new fitness routine. I walk more. I pay attention to what my body and mind need. I am more focussed on health and wellness than ever before.

8. For Support. Whether you call it cooperation, mutual aid, friendship, or neighbourliness, I have been nourished by it this year.

9. For Gratitude. Yes, I am grateful for gratitude. When I’m feeling overwhelmed, I reach for it. It brings me into the present and changes my perspective.

Like you, I’m hoping 2021 is better. But 2020 taught me important lessons. I don’t want to forget them.