Day 102
There are six draft posts sitting in my writing queue. And a list of probably more than a dozen ideas in my notes app. Ideas that I use to serve as prompts, when I’m in my usual groove. But I’ve lost my groove a bit. I dipped close enough into despair that I was unable to finish those drafts or open that list in notes. Instead I thought and thought and thought and questioned what I was doing here in the first place. Why am I writing? What was this instinct I had to record all of these days?
Truthfully, on day 83, when I last hit “publish,” I was starting to feel that there was nothing new to write. Nothing new to record. I remember sitting on a bench in the park, typing that post on my phone, thinking I just had nothing to say. That it wasn’t enough anymore. That my words were too selfish to be putting out into the world, expecting that they would have some impact on someone else.
And that’s where it all started to slide sideways. Because, as people who must write know, the writing must be for oneself. After 83 days, I had lost that and was thinking too externally. I was consumed with the questions. Who was reading? What did they think? Why did I matter?
But then, a few days ago, the ideas started to return. I jotted down a few things. I felt frustrated on at least a few occasions when I wanted to write but couldn’t — no time, no quiet, too many other things going on. Last night, I really really wanted to get in bed with the laptop and explore, except I spent all day on the computer, and, honestly, I needed a break. The screen time exhaustion is real. And it is now the biggest obstacle keeping me from showing up here more frequently.
So. The numbers. Part of the reason I started here in the first place was to record the daily changes of life, and where else are those most evident than in the number of infections and deaths.
In Massachusetts
Total cases: More than 107,000
Total deaths: More than 7,800
In the U.S.
Total cases: More than 2.3 million
Total deaths: More than 120,000
In the world
Total cases: More than 9.2 million
Total deaths: More than 475,000
There have been so many things I feel I could have been recording over the past few weeks, which is probably directly related to why I had trouble recording anything. The kids all had the last day of school, and the days and weeks leading up to that day — officially June 15 — were a constant stream of online meetings and celebrations, exact time slots of when to drive to the school to drop off books, pick up locker items, “graduate” from elementary and middle school. And now, here we are, a week later, plunged into openness. No scheduled anything.
The days leading up to day 1 were full of cancellations. Two basketball banquets, a band concert. Music lessons x three. Ballet lessons and rehearsals. In the weeks to follow: ballet performances, the school musical, baseball season. Another band concert. All of these activities my children were to participate in. All of these activities tied closely into who they each are as people. Athletes, performers, musicians.
The adjustment to no professional sports to watch has also been particularly impactful. Yes, we are a sports family. And also, my son is, we think, even more invested in sports than his equally sport-obsessed friends. We were beginning to look at what colleges have sports broadcasting programs, thinking about where we might be able to visit as early as this summer, just for a fun road trip, when the NBA postponed their season and the NCAA followed suit. There were a few days after the cancellation of the NCAA basketball tournament that we’re and are marked by loss. Maybe I didn’t want to write that as it was happening because it felt silly, so privileged, so unnecessary. Sports, really, as people are dying? Sports, really, as people who have been deemed “essential” must work, putting their lives and those who they live with at risk? To spend too much time missing the evenings watching basketball and baseball games felt — still feels — like something I need to be defensive about. And yet. That is how we spend our family time. Watching sports. The money that I pay for all of the sports channels is, I firmly believe, as much an investment into my son’s future as are the checks I write for the music and ballet lessons. Or all the money I gleefully spend on books. As a parent, I lead with the belief that I must invest in my children’s passions. But what happens when the opportunities to make that investment are suddenly gone?
So this is where we are right now, on day 102. We “celebrated” day 100 — which fell on the summer solstice and Father’s Day — with an ice-cream cake. It was nearly 100 degrees — or it felt that way. I am going to try to return here more regularly, even on days that I spend too many hours sitting in front of the computer. I already feel a sense of loss in the three weeks that I didn’t show up here. What were the numbers that didn’t get recorded? What other small things will I wish, later, I had made a note of? These days will continue for a while, the numbers tell us that. I will try to stay out of my head long enough to show up here. I know that — when we are beyond pandemic days — I will be grateful that I have, even as I may feel, in the moment, uncomfortable, agitated, uncertain, afraid.
Stay safe, everyone.