My 4 Hours Alone During COVID
It has been 2.5 months since we started social distancing in Japan. My greatest lesson so far is how contagious emotions are.
So when I woke up feeling flat and dreading more of the sameness, I knew the day was going to be a struggle. It’s also the fourth consecutive rainy day and my extroverted self was scraping the bottom of the barrel. The beauty in small ordinary moments is not lost on me. But the consistent policing, encouraging and disciplining that comes with parenthood in COVID -- parenthood without my parent tribe to share in the joy and frustrations with -- is taking a toll.
Luckily my husband knows that my normal state is not glass-half-empty and suggested that he take the morning off so that I could leave the house and reset. As in leaving the house and not just going grocery shopping. Maybe even go into his quiet office in academia where he is able to retreat to work daily. There, I would not be touched or wrestled with. There would be consistent quiet in my eardrums. Indeed, I might even come into touch with a part of my life I miss dearly in this COVID reality — deep, creative focus.
My first reaction was, “I don’t need help, I'm strong enough, I just need a few minutes”. I shared with Paul that while the time sounded nice, I didn’t think I would use it well -- I didn’t feel the energy to be creative or productive. I’m still deciding whether his response was distinctly male, or just from someone who is able to relax a bit more easily than me. He replied, “Who said anything about being productive? You could just go to my office and watch Netflix! You know... take a break.” And with that, I simultaneously thought, “God I love this man” and also, “I could never, ever just go watch Netflix”.
But the idea of being alone, of quiet, and enjoying my own company sounded like the perfect medicine. I accepted his help.
So I went for a run, one of the things I know consistently lifts my spirits. And I started to get dressed for work - in “real clothes”. It struck me how this once normal routine felt like putting on a costume. I’ve not worn makeup other than mascara in nearly 3 months. The light foundation stung my skin. The eyeliner looked almost clown-like on me. I put on my skinny jeans and resolved to find more comfortable pants once “normal” returns. I put on red lipstick before realizing that lipstick and a face mask are a terrible idea.
I snuck out of the house as I heard the boys make different requests to their Dad in a loud excited tone, at exactly the same time. I wished him well with true gratitude in my heart.
I set out on my bike for the 4-minute ride to Paul’s quiet, solitary office when the rain began. But I felt light. I almost find focus — I write these thoughts. It feels a little like I’m on a first date — I’m all dressed up and putting a lot of significance in a very short period of time. The pressure makes it hard for the magic of creative flow to take over, but the chemistry is there. I’ll need a second date.
I’m a firm believer in the importance of tuning out the noise so you can hear your own voice. In the quiet of Paul’s office, it was good to hear my own internal voice and it whispered, “take it easy, Wissel”. It also (finally) felt comfortable admitting that this feels really hard.
I returned home glad to hear that Grayson had mastered a handstand -- in fact, he may have been upside down the entire morning. I was not home but 4 minutes when the exuberant shout of “Ok, Mom - ready?… you’re the veterinarian … here’s your telescope … I mean, what’s this called again? … stethoscope … here’s your stethoscope … and I’m a baby lion, but I have special powers and I turn you into the Mama Lion … and here, wear this …. Are you ready?”
Four hours of alone time and I’m more ready to be all the things again. I’m also ready to write a love letter to work. And a love letter to focus -- how lovely you feel to the brain and how I miss you so. I may even be ready to write a love letter to the small, beautiful moments of parenthood.