Quarantine

The first few days felt much like waiting for a Nor’Easter when everyone in the storm’s path prepares, buying groceries, making favorite dishes, uploading movies to watch, sitting around in sweats or pajamas, certain anxiety and excitement humming through your house for the impending storm and the uncertainty that the Nor’Easter could bring. Unlike most weather upheavals, the anxiety about the uncertainty drowned out any potential excitement about the collective isolation and hunkering down that was being enacted everywhere. Like most of the world, I sat through the first few days denying the possibility that this would be our life for the near future with no expiration date in sight. The denial got replaced by something far more difficult to navigate or control: dismay, disbelief and gnawing anxiety. As the acceptance of this as life for the next few weeks settled deeply within me and each member of my family, each of us experienced profound periods of sadness, anger, fear, boredom, and the general ennui of being cooped up in a New York City apartment, which is not grand nor particularly small. By the end of the second week, the three of us settled into a rhythm of sorts, my husband, son and I working or studying via our computers, phones, and any device with a screen. Although all of us were in the same apartment, we seemed to adhere to an unspoken agreement of staying out of each other’s way. I turned our living room into a makeshift yoga studio by pushing sofas and chairs aside. I started working with clients via teleconferencing, even setting up a teaching schedule online for my students at large. Our high school son started back to school via video conferencing as well. The only member of our family that seemed to adjust the best to this situation was our dog, who got more attached to us as the days wore on. It was fascinating to see how each of us hit that one day when the idea of being cooped up became unbearable, resulting in a general peevishness, expressed over someone leaving the bag of granola open. Thankfully we seemed to take turns when the frustration bubbled over into general anger about every little thing. I can’t imagine the explosion over the granola bag left opened if all three of us had hit that proverbial wall on the same exact day. As the death toll mounted day by day, I worked hard to find the tiniest crack in that silver lining. Yes, I was grateful I worked for an employer who saw our value and had stepped up to keep up our pay at a reduced rate for the foreseeable future. I was grateful I could still serve my clients in a period when the services of healing seemed more in need than ever. I was grateful for the online community I was creating even though I am, not quite a Luddite, but certainly no technology wizard. But the thing that made me the most grateful was the fact my family was quarantined together. Somehow amid the hectic schedules of our normal lives, the times spent together were squeezed in, not given our full attention and priority. The instantaneous removal of our collective busyness created a void in which much could be filled. Unlike the stories shared with me of my friends’ teens angst and ensuing behavioral challenges, our son, in spite of my and my husband’s quirkiness, seemed to like us and to enjoy spending time with us. As I have learned many years ago, love is no guarantee that you would like that same individual. Even the relationship of child and parent requires certain alchemy of chemistry, personality, and starry dust to guarantee that intangible thing of like, more so than love. Therefore the fact the three of us liked one another beyond our love has been the balm even as we have faced the many challenges of any family. The void that got created as our daily routines evaporated we filled with vegetables, grains, proteins, spices, and our collective labor. Each meal was like the planning of the most important dinner party, as menus were discussed and negotiated, tasks assigned, recipes researched. The hours around our dining room table, enjoying the food made lovingly felt like a way for us to express all that we were feeling, but perhaps unable to express in an effective, proactive manner. The time around our table seemed to offer each of us a buffer against the ravages this virus was wreaking on our world at large. As the demarcation of before and after seemed to become starker with another death accounted and cataloged, each of us knew the end of this crisis would leave a world altered in ways that none of us could quite envision. So, we cooked and we ate. The idea of food providing succor in a time of such peril and uncertainty is certainly nothing new. All cultures gather around food as a way to connect, to keep traditions alive, to celebrate, to mourn, to nourish, and to draw comfort. What my family was doing was not original as I watched countless friends on social media platforms post pictures of bread, cakes, and endless dishes from cuisines around the world all created at home.

Even as I write this there is no date that has been given when our world, if ever, can return to normal. That word of normal, I now understand, will be redefined once our doors are reopened and we are allowed to move forth to the outside world. History books will be written about his period for many years to come. That is a certainty. Hopefully, amid all the research and data that will be explained and pored over, someone will remind us how each of us was able to get through this challenging time by doing what humans have always done…gather around a table, raising our glasses, and taking some small measure of comfort in the simple act of eating.