I moved to New York three and a half months before a global pandemic arrived there. I'd had a vision of a job downtown for some cool, savvy media company. That became the dream of working for a health-related company aimed at serving the underserved, or a non-profit looking to positively impact the world. And then it was, any job - any job that could pay my next bill. The situation became one of survival rather than reinvention, per se.
And yet here I am, reinventing again, in the middle of the pandemic. I just moved myself to a brand new city, one I've only visited once, one where I know hardly anyone and even those I do, I cannot see because the virus is escalating again. In some ways, it definitely feels better than New York — there is space here. I took a walk to, and then in, a park over the weekend at a safe distance from others and with a mask on. But there were some who did not wear masks. More than I would have expected from a city that considers itself so progressive. This was disappointing. I almost wanted to mentally snapshot the faces so that I'd know, when we were back to normal, who made the selfish decisions, so I could avoid them. It is so disheartening to see people who refuse to do such an easy, important thing to protect others.
I'm listening to a lot of Stevie Nicks these days. I'm trying to channel big witch energy. I'm not entirely sure why. I still want to be an adult, someone put together and in charge of herself, and part of me worries that indulging in this mysterious part of myself will come across as a childish regression. But then the whole point is, I want to live for me, not others. I want to learn to commit to myself, really and truly. I want to be nice to myself. It is hard, and sometimes it is exceptionally lonely.
It feels clear as day to me that the way back to myself is by journaling consistently again. Whether that is here, or somewhere more private, the consistency is what matters now.
What goals do I have? Do I have any that reach beyond, survive this exceptionally difficult time in history? I stared at an open Word document that contained a blog outline for hours today, unable to focus long enough to flesh it out. It's my work, and I need to meet deadlines and make money, but I also just want to curl up in a ball on my bed until things get a little easier.
I am holding the arrival of my POD as a beacon of hope, as a significant hurdle that if I can clear, will bring forth a little more calm from the chaos. I think that's why my stomach has been somewhat sick all day. After such a dehumanizing experience last week that drained every bit of energy from me, I still haven't fully recovered, so that if it were to happen again tomorrow I genuinely don't know how I would recover. It feels so crass to worry about such things when people continue to be killed at the hands of police, of hatred, of selfishness and disease. But maybe if I give space for myself to have my feelings about the difficulties of my life, and don't frame it as any kind of comparison but simply a hardship that exists, maybe then I can process it so that I'll have the energy to put towards other causes, too.
Today I've felt like just kind of yelling a lot. Not screaming, per se. But just hollering. I'm so scared of getting COVID, because I'm so scared of dying, just like I've always been. I just feel there is so much I want to do, and like I'm somehow running out of time. Sitting around worrying about that doesn't solve anything, of course. It really just compounds the problem. But it's where I'm at and I'm trying to be gentle with myself.