.SOMETIMES RAW.

The other day, my friend and I had a 10-minute conversation about food. I mean we talked about our thoughts and feelings for hours and hours before, and the state of the world, or our experience orbiting around each other in close quarters like planetary moons for the past two weeks. We talked about life. Philosophy. And we are good at it. We are good at talking. Our conversation sparked after we came home with bags of grocery store products. Stupid quarantine.

When quarantine initially began, I sat on my kitchen floor for a little over a week, sad but surrounded by more nutrient-dense food options such as lentils, chickpea pasta, raw cashews, kale chips, and these canned Austrian beans: Käferbohnen. I prioritize consuming the latter while dutifully resembling something like a normal, healthy routine. These days, I spent hours plotting how to make everything look and feel the same and hours wondering why my anxiety seems to worsen some days and gets better on others with each measure of supposed self-care such as:

Wake up whenever I feel like it.

Get dressed in a presentable ensemble.

Make coffee for myself (I don’t eat breakfast) and breakfast for my son.

Write and read.

Exercise.

Take a shower.

Eat a well-rounded lunch with protein, vegetables, fats and carbohydrates.

Go outside with my son and play basketball. For hours. And hours.

Light dinner. Creamy Ginger Carrot Soup. Salad.

Read or/and watch something with my son.

More writing/reading/watching.

Sleep and repeat.

Then one evening, after a particular manic day of regimented activity, I was standing in front of my kitchen counter, contemplating the responsibilities of an impending mealtime. I attempted to hype myself up about the prospect of drizzling salmon with herbs and olive oil and baking it in the pan for 10 minutes while adding some fries for my son. Then sautéeing some fresh spinach in a skillet while heating up leftover rice in a pot….. when the box of my son’s chocolate cereal caught my eye. I took it down from the shelf, opened it up, and poured some into a bowl. I topped it to the brim with coconut milk (we don’t drink milk), carried it to the table, and we started eating. It tasted like 1994. It tasted like my mom put it in front of my siblings and I on a Sunday evening after taking a bath when we were kids. It tasted way better than salmon, spinach, and rice.

Of course, we were hungry again after (just carbs), so I fried two eggs sunny-side up and we ate it with avocado slices, and the sautéed spinach. After we ate we felt good. Fulfilled. Satisfied. I sat back in my chair at my desk after and taught about a quote I had once loved but had not thought about in years, from the first season of Modern Family, spoken with comedic seriousness by the uptight Uncle Mitchell: “I am loose. I am fun. Remember breakfast for dinner last week? My idea.”

I am a Certified (Holistic) Nutritionist Practitioner (CNP) and will be the first to admit that pouring chocolate cereal into a bowl instead of eating salmon with spinach hardly constitutes “living on the edge”, but the tiny thrill I go out of it was enough to make me pay attention. Over the next few days, it dawned on me that, despite all the advice I have heard about the importance of adhering to the habits that buffered my pre-quarantine life-a “normal” routine does not necessarily lend itself to a completely abnormal situation. In fact, for me at least, it was a bit like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole: frustrating at best, damaging at worst.

I still see the value in routine. Routine keeps me and my son sane. I am just open to rethinking what the concept of routine looks like right now. Maybe it looks like salmon, maybe it looks like cereal. Maybe it looks like watching Netflix at 11 am. Maybe it looks like trying to start the first chapter of a book I have always wanted to write at 12 pm. Maybe it looks like lying on the floor in my living room and closing my eyes for a few minutes after my daily online Yoga practice at 10 am. I am still figuring it out, holding gently to the things I thought I knew, understanding now that the answers were always meant to evolve. Also, quarantine makes me think and talk about a lot of things. Communicate with one another is key. Especially during those times. And to be honest, even if it is painful. The ego often has to be left behind in order to move on together.

Also, there will always be chocolate cereal in my cupboard.

What are you up to this weekend? We made pizza at home and took a stroll through the park. And, I left my phone at home.

Screen Time: Screen addiction is a very real thing in the Corona pandemic. Everybody is always available, which is good and bad. It is a nice feeling not to wake up with new notifications about the virus for once. Sometimes I enjoy the time-out from digital feeds that make me feel anxious and to stop cycling through my core set of applications i.e. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, email, WordPress. These days, breaking this routine felt strange to me. The urge to constantly know what is going on in people’s lives while focusing on my son’s and mine is a lot of work when nothing else is going on. Taking a break to check in on everybody at all times seems like the right thing to do.

On Reading: I am a big reader and found these days, printed books to be more vibrant than ever. I almost read myself through my mountain of “to-be-read-next-books” and will then order new ones online while supporting local, small bookstores in my neighborhood. My son loves to play by himself so I am able to spend a few hours, even during the day, reading while the world is still broken.

On People-Watching: When I sat in the park yesterday and my son chased his basketball, I watched people. And quickly found that looking worried them. Who is coughing? Is she sneezing? Is he too close to me? To her? To them? People are uncomfortable and scared. So, my son and I played social-distant-soccer and basketball away from everyone for almost one hour and had a great time. We have been watched but smiled at.

Walking Around: We have been for a short walk this morning. It was the first time we were outside in the early morning in days and ambling along the barren streets in Vienna was as surreal. Every corner and every street seems to be re-painted as an empty mirage depicting the erstwhile routine of my life before Corona. Vienna is nothing without its people and the formerly minute, now seeming extraordinary details of our habitual activities. I should have never taken them for granted. Actually, I think this is too harsh. Appreciating what you don’t know you don’t have before you no longer have it is basically the definition of empathy, but it takes time to get there. Often, the time is freckled with adversity. This adversity is subjective, but I want to reiterate, if only for myself, that we are all going through something. Not literally, but the grass of my neighbor might look greener, or the act of acknowledging that theirs has turned to weeds might paralyze me with guilt. But I am someone’s neighbor too, and they are observing my grass. I wish I had grass, though. It’s a cycle, no question, and it can get impede a primal desire to connect, but I am beginning to think it can also be interrupted by the conceptual act of sharing your grass in whatever small way you know it. I talk to my neighbor across the street a lot. He is not naked on his bicycle anymore. Corona changes things.

Mentally Surviving this S***: Or maybe it is better to ask how to make time feel more alive? Or to demarcate it. How do you create the gratifying clear breaks of time that the natural rhythms of daily life, even if that only entails going outside for a short stroll, seem to you? How do you acknowledge whatever festivities were planned when there is no longer a real difference between a weeknight and a weekend night because, at least for me, the material specifics of where I go, what I eat and where I eat, have weirdly blended into themselves. So, my friend and I made Spaghetti Bolognese while dancing Salsa to Carlos Santa during and after cooking. Because, why not? And kinda romantic. I think it was Thursday though who the hell knows anymore when I experienced the familiar desire to race through time in order to get somewhere I want to be again. Remember anticipation? It is funny that as a generation, we have been trying to combat this craving to speed time up, not slow it down. Even though some moments could last forever. Now it is what keeps me buoyed.

All of this is to say that creating a ritual around a thing you love to do then savoring every second of it and sharing it with someone you love, either in physical space, cyberly or by pinpointing yourself as the chosen loved one seems like a worthwhile pursuit right now. For me, it creates a fleeting feeling that makes me think, or lets me pretend, that life is normal. I choose to experience this as a reminder that life will be normal again. It has to be. And if nothing else, today was a good day because we are one day closer than we were yesterday.

Always remember it could be worse: This current situation feels different to everyone. Some feel helpless and anxious. Some are bored. Some are self-quarantined alone, and lonely. Some are realizing that After will be very different from Before. Some just got off their 12th double shift in a row at the hospital and can’t hug their family. Some cannot afford soap. Some are learning how to bake bread. Some are living paycheck to paycheck and the next one will not arrive. Some lost their jobs. Some cannot sleep. Some cannot go to the grocery store because they are at risk. Some cannot afford their rent next month. Some cannot meet with a therapist or lawyer. Some people will lose their business. Some just really need a hug. Some will get divorced this year. Some will have a baby this year or early next year. Some don’t know what they are going to do next. Some are horny. Some won’t see their families for months.

And some are logging off to stay grounded.

This is an interesting article on when the coronavirus social distancing will be over if you would like to read.

Lately, I realize that the best moments on my journey were not important milestones, but rather the slow meandering Saturdays spent walking around the city, exploring and observing. It is easy to feel like I have to figure it all out, but then I overlook the sweet, small moments that are much more valuable in hindsight. This is a challenging time for everyone. One of the loveliest gifts I can give myself is being alone, though. I have discovered who I am by spending time in solitude and learning how to brace tough situations as well as enjoy incredible beauty. Loving my own company is a wonderful tool to use, especially during challenging times when I need space to reflect.

I have had many periods of loneliness, unsure of what I was doing and struggling to make sense of a new city and social atmosphere. I have found that I had to take these moments really slowly. It is easy to say look at the bright side but for some, it is incredibly difficult to do. Remaining optimistic and positive is hard work, and really needs a lot of practice. In this moment of global anxiety and uncertainty, the phrase we are all in this together can feel a little empty. It is hart to tap into a sense of togetherness when isolation is so tangible. It is even harder when you can easily spend an entire day scrolling through an endless stream of difficult news that doesn’t predict when the tune might change or if it is true what we hear on the news. And yet, hope persists. And these little acts of kindness such as buying groceries for my elderly neighbor who does not want to leave the house. These small efforts make a big difference. They are proof that as physically distant as we are, we are closer than ever. Peas floating in the same human soup.

Sometimes, my friend and I compare our daily highs and lows. Things about internal happiness and external desires and dreams. Lately, my highs were to go to the store to buy groceries, to write, practice yoga at home, read a lot, and do laundry. #gettingbackinshapewhilequaranteened. My lows were stepping into my son’s push pin-battlefield for his dinosaurs after my yoga workout. My friend’s high was hanging out together in the woods chasing the feeling of normality. Because nature is calming. His low was many ongoing pressures in his life that trailed him like a demonically possessed shadow. But, everything will turn out okay in the end. Just don’t step on those push-pins.

Otherwise, a lot of memories marched by, starting with the present moment punctuated by the twinge of self-consciousness that has veiled every thought, every move, every decision I have made since quarantine started. What am I doing? What is this sensation? This feeling that if I don’t communicate, I will erupt. Is it frivolous? Indulgent? Is it even helpful? What is “it”? I cannot keep asking this question for long enough to be able to acknowledge that I have taken for granted the answers to these questions all this time. I have had enough confidence in my recognition of the tiny incisions that sizzle within the flesh of what makes the human experience so raw. We are all so very vulnerable.

When my son asks me what is going on, I don’t put on a mask. I don’t pretend it is two weeks ago. He is old enough to understand. But I want to keep things as normal for him as possible. By doing this, he is not losing confidence in me and what I always tell and promise(d) him: this is home. Here, you are safe. Home will always be safe. I define safe as stable and under control with a lot of love. And a cup of black tea with Inländer Rum and honey for special occasions.

Let me tell you, for some reason, even with all this madness going on, I feel stable. I don’t freak out. There are still so many opportunities, so many things to do. I feel grounded and sure of who I am even though I don’t know what will happen in the future. The key is that hopes and expectations are not jumbled together like white and colored separates swirling around in the same washing machine. Just watch that the colors don’t bleed into the whites. But maybe they do bleed you might say. And then I lose my favorite shirt. So what? Maybe through the pursuit of losing this old one, you will find something new. Maybe you will like the new shirt better. So much better that you cannot even remember the one that got ruined way back when.

Even there is so much uncertainty these days, I know I have to slow down. That I cannot and won’t lose my mind. I don’t want to jump higher off the ground but instead sit closer to it. Be more in nature. Connect. And don’t get frustrated. Try to adjust. Because we are all adjusting. We have a lot of time these days. I can give stability to my myself and my son without putting on a mask and to do my best to protect him.

I won’t let the silver lining of white laundry get mixed up with color. And I won’t let social distancing make me distant from myself. Connection is salient these days. Even 2 meters apart. It is going to get easier. We are incredibly resilient as human beings. Eventually, people will return to their happiness status quo. We will adjust and get into a rhythm and flow. Even if things won’t be the same as before. Ois hot a end.