It started with a plan, because isn’t that how most of us try to start our days now? The overcrowded households, filled with socially isolated children of all ages, a few pets, and the odd grandparent—those households must enact plans that keep everyone occupied and engaged while navigating a physical space never meant for as many as are now occupying it.
Solo households have a different, less immediately challenging task: How to creatively or productively fill time, coupled with attending to mundane tasks. I gave up cleaning my small house a few years ago, but darn if that hasn’t been added to my plate. I just have to handle it in smaller bites. Cooking and small sewing repairs aren’t my jam either—my sister excelled at both—but I’ve been practicing both since she passed away.
Grocery shopping isn’t something I thought I’d need help with, even in the time of the pandemic. I have two masks, courtesy of my neighbors. I’d made up lists and visualized the store I wanted to go into and factored in the timing so it was at the end of “senior” time on a rainy weekday. I had a plan. I was ready.
My plan didn’t include getting hit with anxiety about going into a store I shopped just ten days—and several terrifying news stories—ago.
I postponed, told myself I’d try again tomorrow. I decided to tackle another project and bring out my warmer weather clothes. A shirt I bought for my trip to Canada last summer with my sister came out of the spare closet and went right back in. Her death is too fresh.
I texted a neighbor friend, who let me know that her beloved dog had to be put down two days earlier. Scarlett, born a month after my dog, was the first puppy Molly ever met. They shared a genuine affection. I could always get Molly to walk the neighborhood by saying, “Let’s go see your girlfriend Scarlett.”
Then I read a note from a dear friend who has been sick and alone in her apartment for a month. She lives on the other coast, although in the time of pandemic, she could be in the next city. She is scared. I want to help. I can’t figure out how to help.
So: fear of shopping, memories brought up by a shirt, loss of a neighborhood dog, a frightened friend. I didn’t need any other excuses to have a good cry.
Another luxury of solo living, I suppose: the freedom to wail at will.
And then what? This is our new normal, both informed and exacerbated by the availability of information. Some of it is true, some of it is false, some of it is unverified because this damned pandemic is, to a large extent, difficult to verify. Without a doubt, death and illness are underreported but would more testing and more identified cases bring more relief? I don’t know. Like hundreds of thousands, even millions of others, I both depend on and have limited faith in my government, at least at the federal level.
But I have good neighbors and good friends and access to information. The support on the ground is amazing. I can click on my growing list of resources to take a virtual tour, listen to soothing music, follow a stress-relieving class, or bake. Then I hug my dog, work on my novel, watch a little TV, engage in a bit of social activism, wave at neighbors from a safe distance, and plan to do it again tomorrow.
You all know what books to read or shows to watch. Below are a couple of other resources (by no means a complete list) for you to check out:
• Twelve museums to visit virtually.
• Wonderful music by Frederick Aragón. Sure to soothe the soul.
• Stress relief yoga with birds!
• Recipe for blueberry muffins. Anyone can do this!