🦠Miscellaneous Musings on 4 years of COVID-19 🦠
Covid changed the world. Changed my life. Life was one thing. Now it’s another!
So historic, right?
My whole life, I loved people. Doing things. Being places. I was a big fan. Big. HUGE! But that changed March 13th, 2020. The 27th anniversary of my sister Rachel’s bat mitzvah during The Great Blizzard of '93….AND the date the pandemic was declared a national emergency in the United States.
Um…what?? A pandemic??
It was otherworldly. Surreal. Novel. #unprecedented.
Curfew. Lockdown. Shut down. Stay-at-home. Quarantine.
AHHHHH!
The rapid global spread of a highly infectious disease was terrifying, but I wasn’t truly, madly, deeply afraid of dying from Covid because I’m a rule follower. Breaking rules makes me feel anxious, so I follow them. I clung to the guidance and kept entirely away from other human beings. It was so scary. People are everywhere! And people spray droplets! And droplets have Coronavirus!
So, I isolated. I isolated reaaaaal good. Social distance? How about no socializing at any distance?! I locked myself in my one-bedroom DC apartment on a not so quiet intersection, in a not so big city.
I want to fully acknowledge the inherent privilege in my ability to isolate. I had a job that went remote. Internet. A roof over my head. No dependents. I’m a white woman. Etc. etc. etc.
It was just little ol’ Me. Myself. And I. And Zoom. And Slack. And Instagram. And Instacart. And Amazon. And FaceTime. And Marco Polo. A kindle. Premium cable with DVR. And, of course, shared Netflix, Hulu, Prime and Disney+ accounts.
We humans have a limitless capacity for entertainment, so living in the Golden Era of TV certainly made dystopia more palatable. Sure we had to stay home, but we had bottomless pits of diversion. When it wasn’t society's day, week, month…even our year(s), TV was there. Michael Scott was there. Lorelai. Devi Vishwakumar. Ted Lasso. Jennifer Coolidge. Joe Exotic. Rege-Jean Paul!!!
Seriously, wtf did they do in 1918?
I got this insufficiently-plyed green toilet paper on Amazon.
I wiped down groceries smothered in droplets.
I did dishes. So many dishes. I’m still doing dishes.
I gained weight.
I watched musicals.
I did yoga with Adriene.
I celebrated Passover alone.
I had conversations about White Supremacy. I listened. I read. I self-examined. And reckoned. I stood outside my apartment and watched demonstrators march for George Floyd past my door to the White House, too scared of Covid to march alongside them.
By March of 2020, I had been practicing Transcendental Meditation for two and a half years, meditating twice a day, every day, 20 minutes per pop. TM significantly reduces trauma and creates inner peace. When shit went cray, I felt the profound impact of my practice. I was reasonably calm and resilient in the face of #unprecedented stress.
I would bring a folding chair and meditate in a traffic circle in Northwest DC, surrounded by foreign embassies. In the center of Sheridan Circle is a giant statue of Civil War Union General Philip Sheridan on a horse, carved by Gutzon Borglum, the visionary behind Mount Rushmore, and ally of KKK.
I didn’t go for enough walks.
I didn’t bake sourdough.
I didn’t join a bubble.
I didn’t date.
I stopped going to Trader Joe’s.
I stopped wearing contacts. And bras. And anything that zipped.
I haven’t wanded, straightened or diffused my hair since 2020. I’ve ditched makeup too. Drawing straight symmetrical lines on your eyelid is an impossible beauty standard and I simply can’t and won’t do it.
I stopped painting my nails. Nails were my thing! I have a strong nailbed, long feminine fingers, and an ability to preserve a (regular, not gel) manicure for weeks on end. But in 2020 I thought…Hmmmm. Is it weird that I’ve painted these parts of myself for more than half my life? That can’t be healthy, right? I pay to do it, too. Fuck you, patriarchy! So, I’ve shifted from painted nails three-sixty-five to once-a-quarter-ish.
In 2020, I would leave the house and think...WOW! We just wear masks now! We didn’t before. And now we do. Wild!!!
I never feel more seen than when I’m recognized in a mask.
In the today times of 2024, a slim minority mask. The immunocompromised and those protecting them. The occasional courteous person with a cough. Maybe someone who doesn’t want to get sick for a big work or life event. I still mask, in theaters, mostly. Airports. Airplanes. I happen to think being sick is a bummer and feeling healthy is a delight, so I see masks as a discretionary tool now at my disposal. You don’t have to but don’t mind if I do!
Every time I’ve seen stand-up comedy since Covid, inevitably a comic preys on the few wearing masks in the crowd. I get it. Masks make our brains scream ‘AAAH REMEMBER COVID????’’. They trigger our PTSD. People who don’t mask, judge the masked.
I’m not pointing fingers. I’m judgmental too. I’m a regular Judge Reinhold. I was judgmental in the before times so kal vachomer in a pandemic. We all judged the shit out of each other. We were all in this together, yet had different survival responses and comfort levels. I was scared to leave the house, so naturally, I judged those who did. I was judged for my extreme caution. We judged each other’s travels. Holiday celebrations. Efforts to get vaccinated, or decisions to stay unvaccinated.
We judged each other’s waist-up interior decorating choices. We judged each other’s Zoom etiquette. I love nothing more than clocking the very instant someone begins multi-tasking in a Zoom Room. You think you’re sooo sly, but rest assured, everyone knows!
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Speaking of how life was changed by COVID-19, here are some excerpts from my journals aka Morning Pages when I first got vaccinated (Pfizer).
April 1, 2021
Shot 1 of 1. Oof. The future is near.
CVS in NE. Super tall guy in front of me. He was scared. And sad about the capitol police attack (a guy rammed his car into an officer). Wants to go to Costa Rica. Has one kid. Was wearing a chef uniform.
Shai told me I need to start dating. I don’t wanna. I do want real life sparks and touch and intercourse but maybe I’m just not ready for that shit.
April 25, 2021
Oh yeah. Dose #2 yesterday. The person administering was in the Army. Corporal. In debt. Wants to deploy. Saudi Arabia. Forget what else he said.
Calm. Cool. Moving forward. Health.
Here are other momentous things that happened in 2021:
I got a haircut.
I went to the dentist. And gyno.
I started socializing…masked or outside.
I started zoom-provising with funny people around the literal world at the World’s Greatest Improv School.
I soul searched.
Whenever I had searched my soul before, it was hard to envision change. I had a very cozy comfort zone. I had a job I loved in a city I loved filled with friends and family I loved. My comfort zone was not too shabby!
National Geographic, where I worked as a TV programming executive and executive producer, is such a special place where I spread my creative wings. My job was basically my whole personality! Sure, like any job it had its ups and downs but whenever I had endeavored on a job search it was a quick dead end. What other showbiz job could I possibly find in DC?
When Covid came to town, I was so grateful for my work family. My colleagues and their droplets were at a safe distance, yet we were so connected.
The Streaming Wars had created a ravenous appetite for programming, programming, and more programming! Covid shuttered the entertainment industry just as every media company under the sun had just launched or were launching direct-to-consumer streaming services.
The pandemic stressed the ever-shifting Hollywood system…and the subsequent labor strikes three years later went right on to collapse it. Womp, womp.
In December of 2020, Disney (parent company to Nat Geo) laid off 32,000 employees. My department lost half of our team, my role was restructured, yadda, yadda, yadda, I started soul searching.
I networked. And worked with an incredible creative career coach Anne Esse who helped me realize it was time. Time to release the wiggle. Release my anger. Release my mind. Release my job. Release the time. Release the trade. Release the stress. Release the love. Forget the rest.
It was impossible to envision my next step under the weighted blanket of my comfort zone, so in August of 2021, I joined 47 million other Americans in the #greatresignation and left my job.
EEEEK!!!
I was feeling alive!
Two weeks before my last day of work…I met someone! We met in the middle of a torrential thunderstorm that culminated in a double rainbow. It was a goddamn meet cute for the ages.
We swiftly entered an epic romance. We explored the Kama Sutra. It was hot. It was heavy. We exchanged many-a-droplets!
THEN, about four weeks in…he dropped some bombs. 💣💥 💣💥 💣
He confessed he was unvaccinated 💣💥
And, was a Donald Trump supporter 💣💥
And, was leaving DC to move to Florida where the aforementioned are NBD 💣💥
Rewind: When we planned our first date, I asked that it be outside. I spent the first ten minutes blabbing about my Covid anxieties and year inside. He was patient with my shpilkes. Yes, I asked him if he was vaccinated. Yes, we talked about politics.
He felt the lies were justified. I never would have given him a shot if I knew! But he was scared about looming vaccine mandates. And tired of feeling like an outsider in DC where he felt silenced and discriminated against for his beliefs, especially during Covid.
Sigh. My Sara Sabbatical Summer of Sex ripped at the seams. Talk about the most 2021 breakup ever! Covid. Covid. Covid! Fucking up everything everywhere all at once.
I was newly unemployed, single and bamboozled.
I started writing. Writing. And writing some more. I wrote about my romance. The State of the Union. How people think entirely polar opposite things. I googled the internet for writing prompts. And devoured Masterclasses.
I got boosted.
I read Save the Cat. And signed up for screenwriting classes where I quickly learned Rule #1 of How to Be a Screenwriter was to be in Hollywood where anything is possible!!!
After 18 months of COVID-19, at the ripe age of 37, I decided to leave home and move to LA to pursue writing for scripted comedy. Should be easy enough!
I got boosted again.
I spent 1Q22 packing my dreams and a cardigan. And cherishing the time with my amazing family.
In April of 2022, I left DC without fanfare. I used to love fanfare! But I was still afraid of Covid. Who wants a novel Coronavirus before, during, or after a cross-country move which is a special kind of hell in itself?
I moved to Los Angeles in April of 2022 🌴
I was still Covid-anxious. I guess it was fear of the unknown?! Whatever the deep down psychological reason, I simply felt more comfortable masking indoors than not. I masked in improv classes. At Seders. Parties.
In June, I dined inside for the first time in 27 months.
In July of 2022, I got COVID!!!!!
Exactly a year later to pretty much the date, I got Covid, AGAIN! The Barbenheimer variant.
Here are miscellaneous musings from my Covid-induced Morning Pages.
July 23, 2022
I have Covid. Climactic? Anticlimactic? 2 years and 5 months of this pandemic. A lot has changed. I have covid in LA! COVID-19. In 2022. Set me on my way. Sunshine. Dreams.
Feeling it. Wobbly. Woozily. Wearily.
July 27, 2022
Just had some tea. Did I taste it?
Laid in bed. Sweat. A lot. In a daze. Half awake. Half asleep. In the Covid zone.
July 29, 2022
Still positive. Boob hurts. Thigh hurts. Spirit hurts. Out of sorts.
ONE YEAR LATER…
July 26, 2023
Covid X2. Oof. It hit me. How? Improv? Audience?
Weird fever dreams. I puked. I’ve puked a lot since living here.
My TV is my sanctuary.
I avoided Jim Woods at Rite Aid because I have Covid.
July 27, 2023
Not nice Friday. There’s a cockroach at large. Very large. He’s hiding.
I’m stuck in TV land. I don’t like it. Still so much of today left.
July 29, 2023
Tested this morning. Negative. What? I mean I’m still positive. Ha.
More weird dreams. More covid. Cleaned. TV. Reading. Soup. Ice cream. Repeat.
And now…back to more musings!
Remember how Donald Trump and Joe Biden ran for President of the United States of America four years ago and it’s nightmarishly happening again?
Remember when we barely washed our hands for a stanza of Happy Birthday?
Remember when we didn’t eat on sidewalks?
Remember in person therapy?
There is no more egregious offender than he/she/they who masks at half-mask.
Bo Burnham’s Netflix original Inside is irrefutably the seminal art of Covid!
People speak in terms ‘'before covid’ and ‘after’. B.C. and A.C. While yes, the pandemic was declared dunzo in May of 2023, and most found a ‘new normal’ long before then, it doesn’t feel ‘over’ to me. I mean, I get that it is, but is it? Yes. It is. I guess. But really? The pandemic is over, but Covid isn’t. It’s just not as novel.
In the before times, I was a categorical extrovert. A social butterfly. A woman about town. But in the past four years, I’ve morphed into an introvert (and/or simply entered my late 30’s). I’ve cocooned. I hibernate. I require an exorbitant amount of alone time to recharge. I’m easily overwhelmed by plans. And anxious in social gatherings. I was never that way, but now I am! Just me? Anyone?
Care to share one way your life was changed by Covid? Yeah, you! Any silver linings from life in the time of Corona? First thing that came to mind…go!
Oh wow.
Interesting.
Hilarious.
You’re so right, I hadn’t thought about that.
Totally. Me too.
How has mine changed? I live among the palm trees now. And celebrities. I take improv and dance classes from insanely talented, best-in-craft artists.
I’m still single. And ready to mingle.
I’m working in early developmental childcare and Jewish education while I pursue writing opportunities in a recovering Hollywood. It is incredibly rewarding and engaging work that also helps significanlty reduce my screentime. Kids are the absolute best, droplet deposits and all!
It’s certainly a life I never fathomed in the before times. Thanks, COVID!
And in conclusion, I honor and acknowledge the extraordinary collective trauma and transformative impacts of living through a once-in-a-hundred-year freaking GLOBAL PANDEMIC!
The END.
Love it!!
Very interesting ! 😏