Isolation, day 17

Since I came home from work on March 13, I've gone to the grocery store twice, and that's basically the only time I've had any face to face contact with anyone besides Tessa.

This is surreal.

If you're reading this close to the time I'm writing it, I don't have to tell you what it's like, because everyone around me is living it, too. The streets are relatively empty, as people have gone inside their homes and only come out for necessities. The neighborhood is quiet: children aren't playing together, cars are parked and still. Dogs everywhere are rejoicing because their owners are taking them on countless walks, both for exercise and to relieve boredom. Today it has been intermittantly hailing, and the idea of going outside seems somewhat torturous: even bouncy Chance is asleep on his dog bed, curled up and cozy on a blustery day.

Being trapped in a house with only a 17 year old is not for the faint of heart. Tessa is, like every teen, hard wired to seek independence, to connect with her peers, to need her space from her mother. Instead, she and I have only one another for comfort and companionship. Already the phone is a dull substitute for companionship. All day we meet in Teams and Zoom to get our work done, and though I crave the company of adults, and the phone is a gift for which I'm grateful, I am afraid that its constant buzzing is enough to make me crazy.

But I still feel incredibly lucky, even when I'm stir crazy. I'm healthy, Tessa's healthy. I'm so grateful that we have this house, with two floors so that we can each take over a space without getting in each other's way (some of the time, anyway). I'm forever grateful that I was a Girl Guide, so when I run out of batteries, or shampoo, or sugar, or paper towels, there is a spare waiting for me. I'm grateful that I'm employed, not worrying about the mortgage. I'm grateful for Wifi, Hulu, and Netflix. I'm grateful that I got Tessa a Chromebook for Christmas, so she has all the resources she needs for school. I'm grateful for my home office. I'm grateful for my lovely little community, surrounded by water, so that I can go on a walk with views of mountains, cherry blossoms, waves, and sometimes even marine life like seal pups, sea lions, blue herons, bald eagles.

I'm struggling to find my groove, hearing about others' lists of accomplishments, and how they are merrily hosting online happy hours on Zoom. (I'm actually having my first online happy hour on Zoom today.) I don't feel so organized... but I'm trying. I'm journaling, cooking, exercising (most days), eating healthy food (and losing weight - down 17 pounds!), finding connection with Tessa. I could be doing worse.

It's not normal to live like this. We're hard wired to crave connection, and I feel the losses, large and small. They closed the parks, so I can't do my normal solitary act of hiking. Museums, movie theaters, all closed. The plays and concerts are canceled, the shops are closed, the restaurants closed. We are discouraged from walking Alki on a warm day - too many people. Some beaches are closed.

So here we are, holed up at home. I'm adjusting, but I'm not adjusted.