#theisolationjournals

[ceekbee]

Earlier this summer, days after I learned I was going back on chemo, I was drinking coffee on the porch with my dad. He said that somehow he felt there would be a miracle—that someday this illness would be behind me and I would be well. I understood the impulse, especially for a parent. And would I like a miracle cure? Sure. But I can’t anchor my sense of well-being in some future unknown, be it a miracle or something else. I need to stay within what I can control, which is how I feel right now and how I live my life right now. And my life right now is good. It’s good despite illness. It’s maybe even good because of it—because of how it has clarified what I value and rerouted my priorities.

In this week’s newsletter, I wrote about how the people I admire most are not those who bend reality to their will, but who accept it and find creative ways to engage with it. I think that’s my definition of resilience: to accept what’s happening moment to moment, and to allow for necessary adjustments, to pivot, to find relief, to cultivate small joys—like spending a few hours on a sunny Sunday picking peppers and making homemade hot sauce with friends.

🌶️ Read my thoughts on radical acceptance and planting seeds for future joys (in this case, tabasco peppers!), along with a powerful essay by the inspiring Laura McKowen in this week’s newsletter:

https://open.substack.com/pub/theisolationjournals/p/hot-peppers-and-radical-acceptance?r=jz3ty&utm_medium=ios

[rockisagirlsbestfriend]

The Isolation Journals: This Foreign Place

April 3, 2020

I arrived here March 12, a beautiful home near the ocean, where I can hear the birds chirping, and the occasional helicopter overhead. The sounds of things that fly dominate the mornings, before the neighbors begin to stir.

I was excited to arrive here, to run on the beach each day, people-watch at restaurants and cafes, explore the neighborhood, go to some concerts and connect with people. . .

We’ve since been told it’s not safe out there. We need to stay in and limit human contact, for our own well-being and that of humanity at large. My excitement about beginning each day with a run on the beach was squelched, first by the rare occurrence of consistent rain, and - when the weather cleared up - by the closure of beaches and parks, to keep us safe.

I’ve retreated inside as required and am settling in to a new rhythm. At first, the days felt long, and the nights longer. The plans I had to socialize in the evenings had all been cancelled. I was missing the sounds and energy of concerts, community, culture, and clanking utensils and glasses. I found myself growing tired at 8pm. Tired at 8pm! From doing…nothing!

One night, I considered the idea of “the old days”, when people would go to bed at nightfall and wake up with the sun. “Let’s give it a try. Maybe that’s our natural rhythm and we’re being directed to reexamine it.” That night, I went to bed at 8:30pm…

And woke up at 3:00am.

Wide-awake at 3:00am, mind racing, battling fits of restlessness and anxiety, I vowed not to go to bed so early again. So there I sat, in an even longer day, deciding the best thing I could do is to get comfortable here.

There’s no better way to get to know a place than to clean it!  I began a room-by-room cleaning quest, starting with the bathroom. It was chilly that first day, and the heat kicked on. “I’m so thankful to have heat,” I thought. Then, looking around that now sparkling clean bathroom, “I’m thankful to be here, safe, with shelter, clean running water… “

“I’m grateful to be alive. And healthy.”

Epiphanies often come to me in the shower, but this flood of gratitude for each healthy moment and breath may be the first that came to me while I was cleaning a toilet.

Day-by-day, room-by-room, I tackled a new cleaning adventure. While sweeping and then mopping the hardwood floors, I noticed where the gaps between wood panels were larger than others, some water damage from the rare rains past, patterns and patches, light and dark.

I enjoyed having the patio doors open, fresh air and mostly peaceful sounds filling the space. As the day progressed, the neighbors, also learning about their new surroundings, would rouse. The sound of a toddler’s footsteps running back and forth, initially, felt disruptive and distracting. But with each subsequent day that comes, I look forward to those running, pounding footsteps, and the occasional giggle that can be heard through the walls. I envision this energetic, excited, happy child, exploring his surroundings with wonder and inspiring fervor. I began to channel his approach to discovering this new place, tackling it with a renewed sense of adventure.

There are other neighbors, who I’m less enthusiastic about. Thankfully, they tend to sleep until noon. The man, in his mid-30s, has frequent temper tantrums, in contrast to the toddler next door who moves through life with grace. His twin sister doesn’t have an “inside voice”, her nonsensical screeches, yelling to her brother, make their way through the walls to interrupt any prior sense of peace. The brother has a motorcycle, which he can’t ride anywhere since he, too, is confined to his patch of habitat. He fancies sitting on the motorcycle, revving the engine for what feels like 20 minutes at a time, and filling the fresh air with the nauseous smell of gasoline and sound pollution. Neither of them knows how to close a door. The slams become more frequent as the day wears on.

When those neighbors rise and begin their clamoring, I struggle to find inner peace.

They’re here. I’m here. We’re here. . . For a while. I mean, that’s the best-case scenario: that we remain alive. And well. And here.

So when I hear the neighbors I’m not fond of, it’s a reminder – equal, though opposite in approach - to the joyful sounds of the toddler:

I’m alive. I’m well. This is good.

An amazing thing has begun to happen, and I’m not sure why or how. The days and nights are starting to go by quickly. I’m “running out of time” to accomplish all the things on my to-do list each day. I’m thankful there’s “tomorrow”, to continue to do the things - the necessary things as well as things I’ve often wished I had more time to do. This feeling of time moving quickly again makes me long for more time, a continued relaxed pace, the opportunity to continue exploring this place, one floorboard at a time.

[ay-corona-blog]

Day 01 - The Isolation Journals

Write a letter to a stranger—someone imaginary, someone you met once, someone you only know from a distance. Tell them any and everything: when you first noticed them and what has happened since, how you’d like your day to start and to end, or what’s been on your mind. Or tell them a story about a time when something difficult led you to an unexpected, interesting, maybe even wondrous place. You may be stuck inside four walls, but there are no boundaries. Say whatever you want to say, whatever you think they need to hear. - Suleika Jaoaud

[dharmarainphotography]

Day 92/100: the finches have started using their feeder now that they’ve realized that the all-you-can-eat sunflower seed buffet isn’t coming back any time soon. #tij100dayproject #theisolationjournals #suleikajaouad #finches #goldfinch #housefinch #birdphotography #backyardfriends #birdsofinstagram #wildlifephotography #animalcommunication #animalreiki https://www.instagram.com/p/CffXhUgJEmo/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[thedirtbagdad]

A wise perspective: listening, being heard... powerful components of essential human being. . #Repost @estherperelofficial ・・・ #TheIsolationJournals were started by @suleikajaouad to infuse creativity and connection into this unprecedented time. On Day 83 of this important project, I ask us to take a moment to reflect on our relationships. To take part, visit suleikajaouad.com/the-isolation-journals. DAY 83 In these trying times, we have been yanked into a completely new way of being. Some of us are feeling lonely, longing to touch someone. Others are trapped inside with the same people ‪24/7‬ and crave just a few minutes alone. Many are working harder than ever before. Some of us no longer have a job. Some are sick or recovering. Others have lost loved ones. Some are redoubling their efforts in the longstanding struggle against racism. Some are just joining the fight. All of these changes can describe even just one person’s reality. We are experiencing, for the first time, the collision of our many roles—worker, partner, caretaker, parent, child, friend, teacher, activist—all in one place. For many of us, that place is our kitchen table. In such a moment, we need to not only take care of our physical, mental, and emotional health. We must also make concerted changes to our relationships, creating new boundaries and dissolving those that no longer serve us. There are some very concrete relational tools that can help us do this. We can take inventory of how we’re feeling (anxious? irritable? angry? depressed? fatigued?) and check in with our loved ones as well. We can work to understand that others may process things differently than we do. We can learn to communicate clearly, asking our families and our employers for the things we need. And we can also practice listening—to sit with another person’s words, allowing them to speak from the inside out, allowing them to be at the same time inside themselves and with you. Listening attentively lives at the ebb and flow of the boundary, the together and the separate. Write about the last time. You felt someone was truly listening to you. What was it like - emotionally, physically, and energetically - to be hear https://www.instagram.com/p/CBxLD7IDgg9fJkcvZBtCbvWpa6fhfgu9NUIYHg0/?igshid=1r0ypztbsdvz9

[mingmade]

#45 - a closed-eye drawing exercise! Read more and join here: https://www.suleikajaouad.com/the-isolation-journals #theisolationjournals @suleikajaouad #creativejournaling #closedeyegiraffe @closedeyegiraffe https://www.instagram.com/p/CAS5UM4HxTi/?igshid=qtmdbzu1r454

[itslizlemon17]

#TheIsolationJournals: A day in the life of Baby

Prompt 12 — Write about my blessings

My true blessing as of late is my dachshund Baby and because of that, I decided to do today’s prompt a tad differently – from the point of view of Baby.

--

I’m deep under the covers, snuggled against her for warmth when I hear our favorite song. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…” It stirs me from my slumber; her voice, our song. I can’t resist as she hits the high note of ‘happy’, I join in. Muffled under the blankets, I work my way out — never losing my note — howling as I break out of the darkness and see her. She’s smiling, having stopped her singing. I continue, finishing off our song. Once finished, I drop down on the bed and stare at her. She’s tricked me awake with our song. I’m not mad, I realize, because today is another day I get to spend with her.

She hops out of bed. I stretch (she: big stretch for a little girl), and find my way to the edge. She doesn’t like me jumping off—something about my back—so she lifts me off and places me on the ground. I head down the stairs while she veers off to the bathroom. This is my time to check the main floor and make sure everything is the same as we left it last night. Once I conclude it is, I head for some water and as I do, she is there clicking on my collar. She takes me to pee. Today I’m hungry so we only go a block and back.

Back inside, she spoons me some breakfast, with an added treat. I eat and she goes around the house and opens it up. All the windows I can keep watch out of are clear for me to do so. She kisses me on my head and heads back up the stairs. I finish eating and jump on one of my three favorite spots—this morning the small couch with my red and white blanket in front of the one side window. I make sure nothing out of the ordinary is going on outside; there isn’t. I hear the water turn on upstairs, and the soothing noise means I can rest for a while.

She’s back downstairs. I hear the fridge open and close. I open my eyes, I see her by the TV, putting on her watch and glasses. She is now by me, giving me kisses—I love her kisses—and telling me I’m her favorite girl (as if I didn’t know that). It’s time for her to go to work, these days it’s in the room next to this one. I don’t complain, I love that she is home.

I doze off again. I dream about my grandparents. I dream about running around their big new house, walking around my Grandpops baseball card room—as security of course, and sitting on my Mom’s lap as Grandma bakes me homemade treats.

I must have been asleep for a while, it’s a lot lighter in the house when I wake. I hear her clicking away in the other room still. I stretch and decide she needs a break (and I need to pee and maybe poop). I make my way over to her, jumping on her, giving her kisses and then stare at her until she says the magic words (she: do you want to go outside?). I do circles around her because I do! She gets up—and takes longer than I would like to get ready (always with the winter coat, hat and gloves). I sit at the top of the stairs...waiting. She finally gets my leash and clicks me to it; opens the door and I am free. We only do a walk around the block (she: I need to get back and eat lunch before working again). That’s ok, I know our long walk is only a few hours away.

Back home, she eats lunch and I bask in my favorite sun spot. I’m asleep when I hear the wrapper—you know the CHEESE wrapper. She tries to open it slowly and quietly so I don’t hear, but I will always hear the CHEESE wrapper! I open my eyes and see the cheese. Decisions, decisions: warmth of the sun or cheese. Today, I choose sun, so I close my eyes and allow her the full piece of string cheese.

She’s back at her work area when I wake again. I hear her talking but it’s not in the voice she uses for me, so I turn to the window to see what’s happening outside. In the next short while I make my presence known to the Rogers—our neighbor Roger and the mailman Roger. I get a little louder—and run back and forth from couch to couch—when Roger the mailman appears. She tries to quiet me but I can’t…Roger is by our house now and I just don’t like that. I finally relax after he leaves and just watch the world move out there.

I start to get antsy; it must be almost time for our afternoon walk. She tries to coax a little extra time with treats and belly rubs, but it doesn’t work, I am ready to go now. She finally gives in. She puts everything back on, starts her watch, puts her ear buds in (that is new as of late), clicks me in once more and we are out!

It’s the long loop today. We pass the park, the ice cream shop (not open), go through another park, on a busy street, by a cemetery and a few good-smelling establishments. She gets mad at me a few times when I dilly dally but Vinny left me a message about being worried about his humans, so I had to leave him a response. Willow left one about her younger brother Otis, Otis left one about his older sister Willow (siblings, am I right?!) and so did a few others. It takes time to sniff each message and then respond. Luckily, it’s nice out so she gives me more leeway today.  

We arrive home sooner than I want (she: we went 3.5 miles, that is long enough). She gives me my favorite treat when we are inside and dishes out dinner and some new water. I’m solely focused on my treat and dinner for the next while, so I don’t mind she is back at her work chair, and later, on the couch with her dinner. I join her just to say hi when I am done with my dinner. I snuggle against her and lick her hands—to tell her I love her and to rid her of the leftover dinner juices. She pulls out her phone and turns the TV on, which is my clue it’s time for my evening nap on my morning couch.

I wake knowing it is almost bed time, she knows too. We both get up and we take one last walk around the neighborhood. We return home, she opens a journal to write in and turns on Matchbox Twenty radio (the journaling has her nostalgic). I am lulled to sleep again. I startle sometime later with her movement. I watch as she closes down the house. Once her nightly routine is done, she heads to me. This is my favorite time. She gives me kisses upon kisses (she: love you to the moon and back) and I turn over for my belly rubs. She obliges. After five minutes of this, she pats me and says ‘let’s go’. I jump off the couch, do a few stretches and ear and bum scratches, before racing her upstairs.

I take the ramp onto our bed. She goes to the bathroom. I wait for her in her spot. She finally comes to bed. I get a few more kisses and a massage before I kiss her goodnight and she lifts the cover. I take my place, snuggled against her belly. I stick close—she has been tossing and turning more and more since being home full time—so I want to give her comfort. I listen for her breath to steady and when it finally does, I stretch out and let myself drift off.

She’s my sunshine.

[darksaphyre]

The Isolation Journals Day 98 - My Idea of Fun by ADAM GRANT

The Isolation Journals Day 98 – My Idea of Fun by ADAM GRANT

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Figure out your “fun age,” meaning the common age of those who enjoy the same activities as you. Invite some friends to do the same, and then compare lists. You might discover some new ways to enjoy your time with old friends.

Learn more about today’s prompt contributor: As an organizational psychologist at Wharton, Adam Grant is the #1 New York Times bestselling…

[kyliesolis]

My contribution to The Isolation Journals

https://kyliesolis.com/the-isolation-journals-day-1/

[chhatramani]

The race to save the first draft of coronavirus history from internet oblivion

The race to save the first draft of coronavirus history from internet oblivion

Eight years ago, Suleika Jaouad was alone in a hospital room, undergoing aggressive treatment for leukemia and awaiting a bone marrow transplant. Just out of college and harboring dreams of becoming a war correspondent, Jaouad was instead confined to her hospital room and felt desperately, stiflingly alone.

In the end, journaling helped Jaouad through her medical isolation. Nearly a decade later, in remission but immunocompromised, she found herself in an eerily familiar situation as the coronavirus crisis forced her to shelter in place at home in New York.

So she launched The Isolation Journals, a project designed to encourage people to capture their experiences as they navigate life during the pandemic. She reached out to people including artist Mari Andrew, author Elizabeth Gilbert, and blues singer Mavis Staples to brainstorm prompts that are emailed to participants at 5 a.m. US Eastern time. “Within five hours, we had 20,000 people sign up,” Jaouad says. “Now, it’s about 60,000 participants.”

While it’s possible to take part with just pen and paper, many users have posted their responses on Instagram and Twitter, tagged with #theisolationjournals. Contributions range from simple photos to interpretive dance videos, original music and art, and blog posts.

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Day 14 of #TheIsolationJournals -“In the voice of someone who loves you” Prompt by @jenpastiloff . Unfortunately I missed a few journal entries in between due to a setback health-wise. But here I am again. Ever ready and relentless. I am honestly so grateful that The Isolation Journals happened my way. It has helped me in ways I couldn’t imagine. Here’s another entry I loved writing about. Enjoy.

A post shared by Shalini (@indolent_chicken) on Apr 15, 2020 at 12:47am PDT

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Our pal and wordsmith @laur.ight is right into the 30 day isolation journal challenge by @suleikajaouad! — Share pictures with us of what you’re up to via DM! #

A post shared by Lock It Down Ladies (@lockitdownladies) on Apr 13, 2020 at 3:45pm PDT

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Here is my prompt for Day 3 of #TheIsolationJournals (head to my spectacular friend @suleikajaouad’s bio to sign up and join 40,000 other people in daily journaling!). Below is an abridged version of my prompt and the art above is my own visual example. I encourage you to join me in keeping a daily journal this month, and, as always, I would love to see what you write/make • We are all going through collective culture shock right now. We are oh-so-quickly adjusting to a whole new way of going through the world: interpreting distance as kindness, embracing solitude for the sake of community, and advocating for stasis as a means of progress. It’s wild and weird. This is a brand new land where none of us have ever been, even though most of us are at home. I’ve been thinking a lot about how this experience parallels to traveling to a new place, where cultural norms are totally different and our daily routines are out of whack and we have jet lag from lack of/too much sleep. We have to celebrate differently, mourn differently, even dress differently (i.e. incorporate masks and gloves into our outfits). Your prompt: Write a travel journal entry from your home, could be your living room, could be your bed. Write as though you’ve just arrived in a new place (because, in many ways, you have) and what you’re observing about the place and how you feel in it. Write what you see, hear, and touch, as though it’s all brand new. What are you learning about yourself in this different land, with all its deprivations? If you’d like to turn this into a visual entry, draw a map complete with notes about this foreign land’s customs, rituals, and routines.

A post shared by Mari Andrew (@bymariandrew) on Apr 3, 2020 at 6:14am PDT

As lockdowns, shelter-in-place orders, and social distancing threaten to stretch out into the weeks, months, and even years ahead, there is a scramble to collect, in real time, the overwhelming abundance of information being produced online. Without it, the record of how we lived, how we changed, and how we addressed the global pandemic would be left incomplete and at the mercy of a constantly shifting internet, where even recent history has a tendency to get buried or vanish.

Looking at how we document our lives is an obvious first step. Journaling has always been a way for people to understand and contextualize their world, particularly during tumultuous times. It has been shown to be therapeutic, particularly for those who have gone through trauma. The dawn of the internet played into this very human desire: Blogspot, Tumblr, and even early Facebook and Twitter had an element of “Dear Diary” to them.

Now, recording thoughts freeform on an Instagram live session, posting art on Tumblr, or choreographing a meme-y dance for TikTok all fulfill the same function as journaling: commemorating an experience and expressing its effect on you. In theory, these creative efforts should form a ready-made repository of crucial information about this period and how we lived through it. Eight years ago, Suleika Jaouad was alone in a hospital room, undergoing aggressive treatment for leukemia and awaiting a bone marrow transplant. Just out of college and harboring dreams of becoming a war correspondent, Jaouad was instead confined to her hospital room and felt desperately, stiflingl…

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[efabuloushb]

My contribution to the ISOLATION JOURNALS

My contribution to the ISOLATION JOURNALS .... #MommyFab

I decided to participate in day 7 of the #IsolationJournals. I came across a post on Instagram and it inspired me to write.

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Thank you @suleikajaouad for having me🙏🏾 ・・・ To round out our first week of #theisolationjournals, I’m honored and delighted to introduce my friend @rachel.cargle. Her explorations of race and womanhood have ignited…

[ceekbee]

Prompt 302. Your To-Feel List by Sky Banyes

We’re all in search of purpose. For me, the form that took was filling up my CV, my schedule, and my to-do lists. I was striving for achievements—and yet I never felt deeply fulfilled.

Three years ago, I started illustrating as a fun way to make sense of things. Over time, it became much more. With reflection, vulnerability and the nourishing possibilities of pen and paper as my tools, I embarked on an essential search for meaning. It’s been a deep explorative dive, and what I discovered in the depths of every plunge was feelings. Even in everyday responsibilities such as work and family, I realized that the upstream of every “to-do” was actually a “to-feel”: useful, financially secure, loving, loved.

Now, I consciously first focus on my feelings—instead of my doings—and allow them to guide my path. It has challenged the foundation upon which I’m building my life. The experience has been transformative.

Your prompt for the week:

Write a “to-feel” list. Start by naming your deepest yearnings and aspirations. Then take a moment to reflect on each—to study your own feeling compass, teasing out the nuances of what each contains with more depth and specificity. You can make your list as a row or column, or lay them out in a fluffy brainstorming cloud. Feel free to use colors and to get creative.

Now, take a look at your list. Are your priorities, habits, and rituals serving these feelings? What steps can you take to honor the items on your “to-feel” list?

If you’d like, you can post your response in the comments section, in our Facebook group, or on Instagram by tagging @theisolationjournals.

[rockisagirlsbestfriend]

The Isolation Journals: Glorious Awkwardness

April 4, 2020

Today’s writing prompt proved a challenge because what was once my most glorious awkward intrinsic trait is currently a way of life for a vast number of people globally. I agonized over the topic longer than I should have.

It felt “too easy” – choosing to write about a “glorious awkward trait” that is so widely accepted now.

It felt “too hard” – would people relate to this as “awkward” now? Could anyone imagine the feeling of hundreds of people staring at them as if they were a freak when they walked down the aisle of an airplane? Would people be able to relate to the experience of returning to the box office, 10 minutes into a movie, to request a new seat assignment; or asking the manager at the gym if they could move to a different cross-training workout station? As many people embrace this trait now, would they be able to imagine their co-workers and friends repeatedly teasing them about this awkwardness and questioning their sanity?

On the idea of it being “too easy”: I thought about some of our most brilliant artists, inventors, designers, musicians, and filmmakers. Stories of being “misunderstood”, “an outcast”, or feeling “different” are commonly shared in interviews. However, once a certain level of fame or recognition is achieved, people celebrate and often emulate their “glorious awkward traits”. But it wasn’t easy. Sometimes that recognition came after decades of taunting by peers, sometimes after death.

On the idea of it being “too hard”: Just this morning, I opened the front door, and saw the grocery delivery driver, in his N95 mask and latex gloves, jump back to the required social distance of 6 feet. Yes, even though this trait is now widely accepted, it still feels awkward. Each of us shrouded in masks as a way to protect each other and ourselves from a dangerous virus. While we both understood it as a necessity, it felt surreal, removed from humanity.

The delivery driver was visibly nervous and anxious to leave. I’d ordered some wine so he needed to scan my ID. With our feet firmly planted on their 6’ marks, our bodies stiffly upright to remain out of the no-fly zone, we extended our arms just far enough that his scanner could read my driver’s license, and retreated as soon as we heard the confirming “beep”.

The writing prompt Jon Batiste offered this morning asked us to describe our “glorious awkwardness”. Well, my glorious awkwardness is: early onset Germaphobia.

I first remember consciously being disgusted by people’s hands in middle school. It wasn’t about the person. I simply saw all the things they touched, could envision dirt and bacteria piling up each time they picked up a pencil, touched the desk, tied their shoe, or twirled their hair. I hid it well (I think), but inside I cringed seeing them raise their unwashed hand to their mouth to eat a sandwich, a healthy snack, or a cookie.

My friends would get sick and brush it off. Their congested nasal passages trying to intake air as they argued, “Agh, izzz jus uh hedddd cold” when I’d decline their request to “try a sip” of my soda. I didn’t want a cold, a head cold, the flu, their mouth on my straw, their breath droplets on the lid.

And it never went away. I thought about it during sex (this was after middle school, for those tracking chronologically). “He didn’t wash his hands when we got home and now they’re where. . . and then. . . ?”

The 3-second rule… or 10 second rule… I don’t remember how many seconds it was, but if a thing fell on a table, the floor, a counter, my shirt, it was not going in my mouth.

In order to have any semblance of a social life, I did the best I could to hide it. Unlike the arbitrary “x-second rule” which never worked for me, I tried to appease my anxiety with “the alcohol will kill it”, which worked for me if I’d consumed enough alcohol.

I’m active, physically and socially. I like to run half marathons, am competitive in a circuit training class, go to rock concerts surrounded by thousands of sweaty people, eat meals out, bump elbows at a crowded bar, travel. The longer I was out in the world, the more I witnessed the repulsive and inconsiderate trait many people - adult people - had of not covering their faces when they sneezed or coughed.

As recently as February – when we were well aware of COVID19, but before we were ordered to stay home – I saw a man sneeze all over the self-service ticket kiosk at the movie theater, as he retrieved his tickets. It was a busy Saturday night. I envisioned all the people who would touch that kiosk after him, print their tickets, go buy popcorn, and put that popcorn directly in their mouth to determine whether it would be salty enough a third of the way through the bucket, before leaving the concession stand to take their seat and perhaps wash their hands on the way. Perhaps.

I alerted an employee, who politely responded, “Thanks for letting us know!” As he continued to address the needs of people in line, the thought of a deadly virus on a high-touch public surface was now trailing off in the distance, unattended.

I’ve been wearing a mask on airplanes, trains, and in all forms of public transport, for more than a decade. The most accessible photo of it I have (meaning I don’t have to sift through 8 hard drives to find an older one) is from 2018 and is posted at the end of this story.

First, it was the looks on the faces of the gate agents, followed by the flight attendants who strained to hear my replies, muffled by the mask. Then, of course, there are the looks other passengers give you, followed by their sighs of relief that you’re not sitting next to them, until you do. Sit. Down. Next. To. Them.

At dinners, my friends would sit waiting around the table, while I washed my hands for well over 20 seconds. Often, depending how long we’d been friends, people would say, “C’mon. It’s ok. The alcohol will kill it!”

Their children would ask, “Can we just start eating?” Sometimes, they could.

Business meals were equally complicated. A coworker once wiped her nose on her napkin, put her napkin on the table, and it touched my fork. I tried to hold it together, to not request new utensils, which would likely be uncomfortable for at least two of us during this business lunch. But I was eating chopped salad. I needed a fork. And I could not use that one. I tried to flag down the server as inconspicuously as possible.

“M’am?” he said.

Fuck. I’m a “M’am” already. Fuck. “Could you please bring me another fork?”

The server picked up the fork, raised it toward his eyes, and twirled it around until nearly every part of it had been touched by his fingers, and declared, “This fork is clean!”

To which my colleague added, “It’s fine. It’s just my allergies.”

Allergies… COVID-19…. the mucus oozing from your nose… whatever hepatitis may now be smeared all over that fork… I’m not using it to place things in my mouth.

This text message regarding COVID-19 is from that co-worker:

To me, for as long as I can remember, this trait wasn’t awkward. It was sensible. I could see how we moved through the world - and we weren’t clean about it. How many things do you do, and surfaces do you touch, between using the ATM and washing your hands? Even if you wanted to, there’s no mechanism for hand washing directly adjacent to the ATM (yet). How many other people pressed those buttons with their dirty hands? Those of us who carry hand sanitizer still have to reach into a pocket or a purse to get it out, mash our dirty ATM hands all over the lid to get it open, splatter it on a hand, close the bottle, brace it between our non-dominant forearm and our ribs, and then rub our hands together vigorously without having it splash in our eyes. 

Put the bottle of sanitizer away.  Feel victorious. And then hear the parking lot attendant decree, “You’re safe!”

One of my favorite observations came from my friend’s son. He was only 5 at the time, but he’d been witness to my glorious awkwardness for most of his life.

“Colette? What happens if you run out of hand-sanitizer?”

“I have more hand-sanitizer.”

“No, but say you’re out - like now -  and that bottle is empty… “

“I’ve got a backup bottle in my purse,” I responded, waving the evidence before him.

“Ok, but what about if you’re in the car. . .  and you run out of hand-sanitizer in the car??”

“I have a backup bottle in the car too…”

“Can we get ice cream?”

In January and February, people freshly returned from their global voyages and large family dinners, would come to circuit training class sick. Coughing, sneezing, sick. “After this workout, I’m going to urgent care,” one member told her friend as we waited in the lobby for class to begin. “I haven’t been able to get rid of this cough for weeks!”

I’d speak with the manager or guest services (they have a fancier name for it, but whatever) people at the front desk. “I come here to be healthy, to stay healthy, to keep my immune system strong. There are visibly sick people about to get on the treadmill adjacent to - and touching - my treadmill, while we breathe heavily, running 8 miles per hour, for 23 minutes, in a steamy enclosed studio. Do you think you could send out an email alerting members that if they’re sick, they should stay home?”

“No, we can’t ask our members to stay home,” they’d respond, while simultaneously – and at my request - reassigning me to a station further away from said sick people. By the way, it wasn’t up to the lovely people at the front desk. They had been told or, at minimum, believed it to be a corporate policy that sick people could workout there.

Fast forward to April 2020: my glorious awkwardness is your glorious awkwardness.

My friends now call me for advice. Colleagues ask where I got my reusable mask (the one pictured below in 2018). “Where did you get that bottle of hand sanitizer?” someone will ask, unaware there’s backup.

But it’s still awkward, isn’t it? Not being able to see the smile of a stranger, clutching the wall as your neighbors cross paths in the narrow walkway, flinching anytime someone sneezes during a ZOOM call. It was one thing when a handful of us felt this way. We understood it to be odd, but we couldn’t escape it, and everyone else seemed to balance it out with their carefree spirits. But now we’re all fumbling through space, with as few points of contact as possible.

Back on the subjects of “easy” and “hard”: in many ways, the new CDC guidelines and local safety mandates have been exceptionally easy for me. It’s my “glorious awkward” moment in the spotlight. I haven’t had to change my behavior at all. I didn’t have to rush to the store (though, on the subject of toilet paper, I am living roll-to-roll).

I have had to change my activities. I miss going to the gym, the crowded bars, the packed arena concerts. I miss running on the beach. I miss traveling. I’ve become numb to the notices of concert cancellations and postponements. Are the days of being at a music festival, with 100,000 people, crammed into sweaty tents, over?

The active part of my life coming to a standstill is hard. But that, I’m still hopeful, is temporary. The hardest part, for me, now that everyone shares this glorious awkwardness, is wondering how we regain that sense of safety in physical space. Will we become afraid to do the things that used to make us feel so alive? Hopefully, we’ll remind each other, “The alcohol will kill it!”

TODAY:

[dharmarainphotography]

Day 91/100: close encounter #tij100dayproject #theisolationjournals #suleikajaouad #blackcappedchickadee #chickadee #birdsofinstagram #birdphotography #wildlifephotography #backyardfriends #animalcommunication #animalreiki https://www.instagram.com/p/CfdIvCqrmTf/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[rockisagirlsbestfriend]

The Isolation Journals: My Window To The World

April 5, 2020

My window to the world faces east and is bathed in sunlight much of the day. The early mornings are typically peaceful, with birds chirping, a light wind rustling among the trees.

I awake without the news, resist the temptation to read headlines on Twitter, brew a pot of coffee, open the window, and allow my understanding of the world to unfold each day, through this singular open frame. Though I’ve lived here more than a decade and have traveled to every continent, this new daily ritual of exploring the world through this single window feels vast and expansive. I’m a trailblazer in my own home.

Sometimes I can hear the faint laughter, squeal, or cry of a nearby child. I am familiar with the sounds of the toddler next door, and with deep gratitude can share that he rarely cries. So when I hear a child wailing in the distance, it’s someone I don’t know. I begin to think about that family. It’s likely breakfast time. Perhaps the child wants an iPad instead of French toast. He’s pleading for Max & Ruby, whom he’s come to rely on as friends during his new isolated reality. He doesn’t understand why he can’t go to the playground today. He misses his music class. Max & Ruby is his window to the world. French toast can suck it.

As the minutes pass, the variety of sounds increases exponentially. Sirens zoom by. I hope they’re able to get there in time. I envision the streets, free of traffic, with most people under stay-at-home orders, and hope this makes the job of first responders a bit easier.

A washing machine whirrs on spin cycle. Did I transfer my washed clothes to the dryer last night? I’m comfortable seated by my window and enjoying the experience of the world expanding outside, so I convince myself that I did indeed transfer that load of laundry last night.

The sounds of the toddler next door begin to mesh with the sounds of his parents. With my window open, his little feet pattering on the hardwood floors reverberates through the living room. His footsteps as he runs back and forth are among the first sounds I hear each morning. Sometimes, I’m not yet at my window to the world, and I listen to his footsteps from the comfort of my bed. I imagine he’s alerting his parents that he’s awake. After 2-3 pitter-patters up and down the hall between his bedroom and theirs, it’s momentarily quiet. They’ve acknowledged he’s awake and coaxed him into bed with them for “a few more minutes of sleep.”

Pitter-patter-thump-thump-thump-giggle. The rhythm gets faster. His time in bed expired 15 minutes ago and now so has his parent’s. Little footsteps, followed by louder footsteps, make their way down the stairs. Their sound library expands to include the rousing of their little dog who’s also ready to play, and a few plinks and plunks on the piano that sound too composed to be those of a 3-year-old.

A motorcycle passes by and reminds me to be grateful the raucous neighbors behind our building are still sleeping. The 32ish year-old man also has a motorcycle, which he likes to rev in the driveway, while his twin sister shouts to him through their kitchen window, which sits directly beneath our bedroom windows. When their noises and his motorcycle fumes fill the air, it’s my reminder that it’s likely time for lunch. As the days go on, I learn to tell time simply from the sights and sounds emanating through my window to the world. 

I close the window to muffle their sounds, and my experience of the world grows more visually acute. With the window closed and the addition of some rock music beamed through my Sonos, I can almost pretend those neighbors aren’t there. Almost. The neighboring twins have a large open patio, which isn’t visible from the street, but is unfortunately, directly under my window to the world. It doesn’t happen every day, but several times during any given week, the man - who’s unkempt even when there’s no pandemic - stands on the patio, marveling at his motorcycle, sans pants.

Thankfully, they’re still asleep this morning and I can continue to explore the world through my open window. The sounds and sights build as other neighbors – those I’ve never met – embark on morning walks. It’s mostly couples walking side-by-side. Occasionally, people I imagine are friends pass by, perfectly spaced 6 feet apart, as if following invisible markers on the ground. Who are they, these neighbors I haven’t previously crossed paths with (or at least not that I’m aware of)? Have they always walked the neighborhood or is this a substitute for their now shuddered gym?

As I grow more familiar with the stranger-neighbors who stroll by, I consider the paradox of having not physically seen my adjacent-neighbors – those I know and am friends with – in over a month. When my window to the world was simply a window, and the world was something I could explore through doors, trains, planes, bars, and restaurants, I’d see my neighbor friends frequently. We’d pass one another, without masks and fear, while getting the mail. We’d stop to catch up before going for a run on the beach. We’d gather in the shared courtyard – or as my toddler neighbor calls it, “the forest”. The productivity of our HOA meetings was measured in bottles of wine consumed.

Though we all live in the same small building, we’ve truly been self-isolating among our individual units. I don’t see my adjacent-neighbors through my window to the world, because between us there are walls. Perhaps we’ll come out of this with more windows, a broader world-view, a deeper feeling of connection to those we may not know, and fewer walls.

[dharmarainphotography]

Day 90/100: acrobat! I took down the sunflower seed feeder because the finches were monopolizing it and tossing seeds everywhere. Within a couple of hours the chickadees (who hadn’t visited in weeks) came back and visited the platform feeder. Apparently they didn’t like being crowded. I had really missed them and it was lovely hanging out with them this afternoon. #tij100dayproject #theisolationjournals #suleikajaouad #blackcappedchickadee #chickadee #birdsofinstagram #birdphotography #wildlifephotography #backyardfriends #animalcommunication #animalreiki https://www.instagram.com/p/CfahhaaLdSE/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=