Covid Letters, No. 1

Life has gotten weird.

The last four months in brief:

Holidays: family reunion in Hawaii. Reuniting with my mother’s family, all of whom I adored growing up until my mid-twenties when my dad died and our visits fizzled. Then my–our–grandmother died. As you can imagine, much to write about that reunion. Suffice it to say: a life highlight.

January: Covid 19 was a background noise. My daughter turned seventeen. My son broke his right radius skiing.

February: Erelle Pestat came to live with us for two weeks as part of an American-French student exchange. As with Hawaii, way too much to say about this experience : another life highlight. I adored her unapologetic yet quiet manner, her big brown eyes. I loved making a home for her, not something I ever thought I’d do for someone else’s kid. One thing I will never forget: that breathless moment at the airport as the automatic doors opened and this bunch of tired looking kids walked through. A brief pause as all ten host families, parents and kids, thought, That’s them. And we broke out clapping. Applause. Applause, people. For the first time in a long, long time, I loved the human race.

Then till now: Covid-19. Trapped at home, deciding how much to make of this, admitting I didn’t know enough, that I better get with the program, tightening up the family restrictions, dealing with bored teens, my own boredom and lack of solitude, cursing the human race while at the same time feeling deep sympathy, commiserating with human fear—Wow. The second half of the foreign exchange program—the part where my daughter goes to France—was postponed indefinietly. I got a cold. I downloaded the free, insipid but somehow satifying game Egg, Inc. I played this game for hours with my son. I watched movies. I spent several days watching movie stars online. I watched Coldplay’s Chris Martin take requests on a live YouTube video (or was it Facebook).  Jimmy Fallon is airing his show from home with his kids. Comedian Sebastian Maniscalco is sending out snippets of his life under quarantine, including a clip of his three-year-old combing his hair.

Something about these private glimpses into the lives of famous people felt off to me. After watching these videos, I had the same feeling I get after looking at that ridiculous page in Us Weekly: Stars—They’re Just Like Us! My skin crawled with a quiver of envy, a not-quite anxiety. I wanted something. Something. A snack. Or something. I just wanted. I wanted more. I wished and I wanted.

And I recognized the feeling: shame. This empty wanting is a symptom of diminishment.

I think the heightened reality of this pandemic has put my shame radar in overdrive. I can now gauge everything in my life against that feeling at the airport, watching the French kids enter our lives. And I’m seeing a lot of stuff that needs to go.

I got over my cold and stopped playing Egg, Inc. I stopped watching lame cop shows that feature the murder of women. Instagram had to go. I went back to work on my novel—yes, I have dived into those deep waters again. I took a walk. I knit a hat. I wrote to people on text or email to check in. A friend and I held a virtual happy hour. I signed up for a free Yale class on Well Being. I attended, via Zoom, a friend’s Presbyterian church class. I joined a writing group that follows one lunar cycle. I’m pretty sure that I once vowed to stay away from anything that had to do with “following one lunar cycle.” Yet here I am. 

And that brings me, dear readers, to you. I opened up the blog. I had an idea.

I have about seventy-five solid subscribers, people I know read every word I write. This makes feel like I felt that day in the airport. Rich. Teary eyed. And I wonder, if watching strangers, famous strangers, live their regular lives is meant to make us feel a sense of belonging, imagine what we might feel if we heard from people we know! And relate to!

Will you consider being a guest on my blog? It’s not a huge audience. It’s an awesome audience. Readers of books, lovers of food and stories. Thinking, curious people, all my subscribers. Please! I want to hear from you!

We can call it the Covid Letters. Your letter doesn’t need to be long. You can aim for 500-1000 words about what’s on your mind. Anything on your mind. You must mean what you say, as that’s the name the of blog. If you are interested, please email me via the site. I can give you a prompt if you wish, or see the list below.

Again, I’m inviting guest bloggers to create an exchange, something less one-sided than what we get from social media. Will you join me?

A few prompts to get you thinking:

What would you tell a high school senior who won’t get a senior prom, a final game, or, possibly, a graduation ceremony?

Tell us the best thing you’ve done in quarantine.

What is one thing you’d like to see become a permanent change about this pandemic?

What are you reading and why do you like it?

What confuses you most about our current situation?

Where does shame like to hide in your life?

What do you do when fear taps on the window?