New-old-new body

My body has been through the wringer.

Cancer treatment was brutal. Not only did I need double mastectomies, a node dissection, a port (and its removal) to do some incredibly nasty chemo (and I was allergic to chemo so went into anaphylactic shock!), some pretty intense surgical biopsies, and a salpingo oopharectomy, I also had countless reconstruction surgeries. When I did radiation, I got third degree burns and had to go into intensive wound management. I took drugs that nearly crippled me; in the morning when I attempted to stand, my legs would buckle until I caught myself; I couldn't chop a carrot or sign my name because my hands hurt so much.

Ugly.

But along with the ugliness, there was another ugly: from a combination of the chemo steroids and the carb cravings, I gained weight. By the time chemo was done, I needed to lose 40 pounds - and I did! I joined Weight Watchers fresh out of chemo, and by the time I was done with radiation and a few more surgeries, I had gone down to my lowest adult weight. I was wearing size 4 clothes for the first (only!) time in my life, and people actually said "you're too skinny!" In hindsight, they might have been right, but not by too much.

From about 2006-2015 I kept up my good habits of diet and exercise. I did yoga sometimes, and I ran and hiked and walked a lot. From 2015-2017 my weight crept up a bit, but still in my comfort range.

But when I started teaching, I was so tired and overwhelmed that I let my good habits completely fall to the wayside. I started eating all of the staff room treats, sharing the treats that I brought for the students, and eating too much take-out because I was too tired to cook. I stopped exercising.

This January, I went in for my annual blood work, and I was shocked when I stood on the scale: it registered a number that I hadn't witnessed since my third trimester of pregnancy! As if that wasn't shock enough, my blood work came back with high cholesterol. It stung: I fought so hard to get my health back from cancer, and now I had to worry about heart attacks or strokes?!

I should have known. When I looked in the mirror, I didn't recognize what I saw. I saw pictures of myself and thought "SURELY I'm not that big?" even though I was buying larger clothes and my old clothes didn't fit. Even though my knees creaked on stairs, even though I had no energy, even though my face had changed shape. I should have known.

I knew what I had to do, so I immediately re-joined Weight Watchers the same day I got the results. I told my doctor that is what I was doing, and she was pleased: it's a program known for its health benefits, relying on balance and reason rather than trends and deprivation.

I joined on 2/2, and today, almost three months later, I'm down exactly 21 pounds.

21 pounds in just under three months is two things:
1. Not that remarkable. People can lose weight a LOT faster: if you look at The Biggest Loser, they might lose that much in a week or two.
2. Extraordinary. My body is transformed...is transforming still.

I lost on average less than two pounds per week this whole time, and I couldn't be happier about that. Why? Well, while I'd clearly like to be my ideal weight (I'm not there yet) as fast as possible, what I really want is to be healthy, and to pick up a plan to be healthy for the rest of my (hopefully long) life. Last time I lost weight, I did so quickly, and I did it by obsessing over every bite, and by being hungry all the time. Well, I like food, and I hate being hungry, so I wasn't going to do that again. At the pace I'm going now, I'm still eating contraband like brownies, bread with butter, and coq au vin. I've had take out, burgers, and pizza. I can eat like this for the rest of my life because NO food is off limits, and I'm thrilled about that.

How am I losing weight, then? Well, though I have eaten all of the fattening foods on that list, I don't eat them all the time, and I eat them in moderation. What an unsexy thing! No "get skinny fast!" and no "instant results!" There is no pill that is doing the work for me, no magic food that melts the pounds away. There is, instead, a constant series of choices: if I have this now, I can't have that later. If I want that really fattening food, I'll have to pare back on this meal, and that one. I'm eating far more fruits and veggies, and I've switched from white rice to brown, from plain pasta to brown rice or whole wheat pasta. I've switched from chicken thighs to chicken breasts, from ground beef to ground chicken or turkey, from pork sausage to chicken sausage. I'm eating a lot of fruit for snacks. I eat a lot less cheese.

And I'm happy.

21 pounds is a LOT of weight. Picture a pound of butter, those four sticks in a box: I've lost 21 boxes worth. That's crazy! Every part of me is different: my face has changed feet, and (much to my surprise) I've lost a half size in my shoes! (My slip on shoes no longer fit. My lace up or buckle shoes have gone to tighter settings.) I pulled clothes out of the back of the closet that I haven't worn in years - and they fit again! Clothes that I wore all year to school are now in the donation bin. And the shorts from last summer that barely buttoned because they were so tight? I've had to give them away because they're too big! (Craziest yet, I'm not done. While my BMI is back in healthy range, my squishy stomach is letting me know there is still work to be done, and that's okay. I'm on it!)

My knees don't creak as much. I'm sleeping better.

I don't know if my cholesterol is falling, but statistically, just losing 5% of one's weight is enough to lower cholesterol, and I've lost 12% so far. I was supposed to go back to the doctor next month to have my bloodwork re-done, but since I fear the doctor's office due to sick patients, I cancelled until further notice. I already know it's going to be better: how could it not? I look forward to seeing the results.

But the thing that surprised me, although I don't know that it should have, is that I am enjoying feeling attractive again. I pride myself on not being too vain, valuing substance over style, and I'll be like that until my dying day....but it's not all or nothing. I walk with a little more bounce in my step now. I enjoy getting dressed (even though there's nowhere to go!). I feel - dare I say it? - pretty.

I like it.

I deserve to feel good, and I am SO TIRED OF FEELING BAD.

Life is messy and complicated. My father is ashamed of me, my mother incapable of speaking up for me, and I've recognized how much that is a part of me. I think I was beginning to accept that feeling bad was just part of the deal, and my weight might have been my way of embracing it. Just typing that sentence makes me feel so sad for myself, and for what I've lost, and for what could have been and isn't.

And then there is the world gone mad that is coronavirus, and working from home, and social isolating, and the uncertainty of it all.

But I am more excited for what is ahead than I am sad for what is behind.

My new body is still my old body: it is the one I was born with, and the one that has been through transformation after transformation. It is the body that grew a human and then, impossibly, gave birth on Pitocin and through pre-eclampsia without meds, and that body discovered the super-human strength within. It is the body that was maimed, poisoned, burned during chemo, but then rose up again to run half marathons. It is a body that has grown, and shrunk, and grown again - but it is still elastic, still capable of shrinking to a size more becoming.

I am not done becoming who I am meant to be.

I am fifty years old, but I feel that I learn lessons every five minutes, and often it strikes me that everyone else learned these lessons years before and that I'm the last one to arrive to them... but then I realize that no, we're all learning lessons, and I'm ahead on some and behind on others, and that is how it is for 99% of us.

Right now, I'm learning that I crave a beautiful body that is filled with strength, and that having such a body makes me feel confident and beautiful, and I deserve that. I'm learning that my appearance matters to me more than I thought it did. I'm learning that I can reshape myself, not only emotionally but also physically, again and again, and that sometimes my physical and emotional states are tied to one another. My layers of fat were not protective, as I'd hoped: they were a trap that held me still, prevented me from becoming who I want to be.

Now, for those fat-acceptance folks out there: you go, girls! I'm glad you're happy. But this isn't about that. This is about me not being healthy, and embracing health, and finding the joy that comes with that health.

And it's about feeling beautiful. Maybe others feel good at a high BMI, but here's the truth: I don't.

I am thrilled to get this body back, to re-inhabit my skin in this way.

I bought a bikini, and a paddle board. I intend to spend as much of the summer as humanly possible out on the water, gently gliding over the waves. Maybe sometimes I'll even picnic out there, or read a book out there. I'll explore the coastline of West Seattle, free and strong. I hope to backpack too - and anyone who has backpacked knows that you'd go to a great deal of trouble to avoid carrying an extra five pounds, so losing 21 pounds not out of my pack but off my body will make all the difference in the world. There is no feeling in the world like climbing to a beautiful place with an alpine lake, setting up a tent, and then diving into icy cold waters on a hot day. The water washes away the trail's dust, reinvigorates the soul, and fills me with a joy that is hard to come by on an ordinary day.

I want that again.

And, despite the fact that it's coronavirus quarantines and so I deleted my dating app (I'm not risking my life to meet a stranger!), I think I'm just that much closer to being ready for love. Having some confidence about my appearance is certainly helpful, but I honestly believe that there are changes happening within that are bigger than the changes on the outside.

I deserve to feel great. I'm willing to put in the work. I believe in myself and my ability to make progress, to change, to become a new person.

I believe that I'm still the little girl who was once filled with possibility and promise, before the world gave her messages about being enough, or being someone who would cause shame in a father.

I am going back to who I am, old and new, all at once. I believe in do-overs, I believe in fresh starts, and I believe in learning and growth. As my body continues to shrink to the size it is meant to be, I feel myself growing.

The best is yet to come.

Longing

Today is day 46 (?) of quarantine in our house.

And I am filled with longing.

I long to hear my daughter and her friends in our basement, laughing and talking as they eat pizza and popcorn and home made brownies, watching a movie but really just being together.

I long to go on a long walk with a friend, winding up at my house for a healthy lunch.

I long to hop on a bus downtown to go to a movie, a museum, a lunch date.

I long to go on a date, to dress up just a little (sundress season is nearly here!) and to feel that little spark of excitement as I think, "oh - maybe?"

I long to take my market basket on a Sunday to the farmer's market. I stop at Bakery Nouveau for a treat (their raspberry croissants are otherworldly, perhaps my all time favorite food), pick up my market goodies (greens and fruits, particularly June strawberries), then pop in to Pegasus Books to find a treasure to read. My final stop is Easy Street, where I go upstairs to flip through their "just arrived" used records, finding funny or wonderful treasures like John Denver, Ella Fitzgerald, Linda Rondstadt, or Queen. Sometimes I do this activity solo, but I'm never alone, because I run into neighbors and friends, and we stop and visit and share tips about what the farmers are selling, and maybe we grab a coffee together.

I miss the dog park almost as much as Chance does. When the world isn't gone mad, we go weekly. He swims in the lake, and I stand around talking to other dog owners, and generally soaking up the good will of those joyful dogs running at mad speeds and splashing and stealing one another's balls.

I want to go on a ferry to a nearby destination. I want to sit out on the deck, sun on my face, chatting with a friend, admiring the views, wind in my hair. I want to wander through a small town.

I long to visit my favorite bookstores, picking up books and putting them down again, getting recommendations from staff, chatting quietly with the people who say, "oh that's a good one!"

I long to meet my friends at an outdoor concert - at Hiawatha park, where I never know if I'll like the music but I always love the vibe; or a ZooTunes or Chateau Ste. Michelle concert, where we pack gourmet picnics and spend an hour or two before the concert chatting and laughing and drinking wine before the concert begins, and we dance and clap and laugh.

I long to go to the Seattle Art Museum, taking in the beauty and the strangeness.

And most of all, I long to fill my house with friends. I long to host a game night: we do potluck, and the teenagers come too and they love it as much as the adults do. I long to host a special dinner, the kind where I cook all day, and get the house shining and tidy, and put flowers on the table, and light candles. I long to have backyard hangouts where we laugh and talk and share food and come in and out of the house.

I want to have a murder mystery party.

I want to sit in a restaurant and take my time, ordering new dishes, chatting with a friend.

I want to go to plays, movies, Broadway shows. I want to get dressed up, and go with a friend or a date or Tessa.

This weekend, I'm going to two birthday parties where we drive by in cars, and I'm going to a wedding on Zoom. I'm going to a baby shower next week on Zoom. I don't want to drive by parties, I long to go inside. I don't want to look at my computer, I want to hug my friends and sit with them.

I want to go to my yoga class. I want to listen to the music, and the gentle breaths of other students, and be in the dim lighting. At the end, after savasana, I want to sit in lotus and chant "om" with the other students, filled with the beauty of the practice.

I want to go to Alki for so many things. I want to sit in a chair and read, I want to swim and stand up paddle board, to meet my friends for happy hour at Cactus, to have a bonfire on the beach and sit on the logs under the stars.

I want to try an escape room.

I want to visit neighborhoods - Wallingford, Fremont, Ballard, Columbia City, Beacon Hill, Capital Hill, the I.D. - and poke around little shops, try out new restaurants.

I want to spend hours browsing at Elliott Bay or Pegasus or Paper Boat or a bookstore I've never heard of.

I want to rent a cabin in the San Juans.

I want to go camping, and sit in on ranger talks, and around campfires with other folks.

I want to go whale watching from kayaks with friends.

I want to get my hair cut, a pedicure, and (ahem) ready for bikini season with waxing.

I want to bring my friends birthday cakes and hugs.

I long to visit someone dear to me who was recently in the hospital.

I want to teach my students IN PERSON AT SCHOOL. Oh, how I long for that!

***

So much longing. It will happen again. But right now - just longing.

I do see the half full part of the glass. I'm comfortable and safe at home. We're eating better than ever. I'm exercising midday. I have time to do hobbies like jewelry making.

But I still long for more.

Quarantine Day 41ish. So sad.

I got off work on March 13th, so I'm using that as my "start of quarantine day" but really, for two weeks before then we canceled everything. It feels like we've been quarantining forever, but I know we're just getting started.

And I'm sad.

My favorite parts of my job are gone and I find myself sitting in front of my computer staring blankly, unmotivated and unhappy.

My daughter is crabby. I don't blame her, but still, crabby roommates/children are not the best company.

I feel lonely. Not alone, lonely. I HATE THIS FEELING.

I am at a loss as to how to "fix" myself, but I'm trying. I've been appreciating some of the down time - bread baking, reading cookbooks, making jewelry. But it's not enough.

Next up: I need to dream again. I'm living day to day, but it feels like the future is just one big confusion, a murky muddiness that makes me want to burst into tears. So, I'm trying to look ahead to things that I *can* do, things that I want to do, things that aren't a compromise.

With this in mind, I just ordered a pair of stand up paddle boards and accessories for Tessa and I. I ordered a bikini - optimistic, perhaps, but I did it! - and board shorts and a rash guard for myself, and told Tessa to pick out her own. I got a couple of inexpensive dry bags, and some personal flotation devices: two of the more expensive inflatable waist belt ones, and two of the "normal" and less expensive padded vest ones. My thought is that when it's cold out, the vests will keep us warm, and when it's hot and sunny we'll be delighted to have the less cumbersome waist belts on.

I'm fantasizing about them.

They should arrive before Memorial Day Weekend, and I'm envisioning packing lunches and water bottles, and heading to Lowman Beach or Mee Kwa Mooks and having our inaugural rides. I'm picturing looking cute, and I'm picturing selfies with my beautiful daughter. I'm picturing tipping and trying not to fall in, laughing until our stomachs hurt. I'm picturing paddling together, getting the hang of it, and then Tessa pulling ahead of me, lost in her own thoughts, enjoying being on the water and getting swept up into the athleticism of it, the peace of it, the joy of being on the sea.

I'm also picturing going out by myself, lost in my own thoughts, feeling strong and confident.

I've wanted to get kayaks or paddle boards for years, and I've always found reasons not to do it, mostly financial (I don't need to spend hundreds of dollars on frivolous items). But right now? Basically, I decided to say "screw it!" Our world is so small, inside our house, with furtive trips to the grocery store and little more. I was talking to Tessa about our sadness, and how we needed to find things to dream about, and ways to do more than simply pass the time and wait this out.

I decided that SUP was my answer.

I picked SUP because I love, love, love being out on the water, and I'm certainly not about to buy a yacht (or even a smaller boat). I debated about kayaking, but kayaks are heavier, and I would need a car rack, and I'd need to be able to get it on and off my car; additionally, they're more expensive.

I found SUPs that are inflatable, for a relatively good price, with lots of great reviews. They come in a backpack, so that I can even walk to Lowman Beach carrying it if I choose to, and then inflate at the water's edge. (This would be an issue if they closed the parking at Lowman as they have for Lincoln Park, although I don't think they'll do that at such a small park.) In buying two, I can go with Tessa, or I can invite a friend to join me. The boards can fit an extra person sitting on the front, and I figured with two kinds of PFDs Tessa can even have a SUP party if she chooses.

I've been working on my health, and my body is changing. I'm envisioning a summer where I'm out on the water in a bathing suit as often as I please, and my abs get shaped by my activities. I'm envisioning standing tall on the board, comfortable in my skin. The boards came with waterproof phone cases; sometimes I'll just listen to the water, but sometimes I'll listen to music that suits my mood.

It's a peaceful image, and one I'm clinging to. I need peaceful images, and I need something to look forward to.

***

Another reason to get an SUP is because I want it, and I'm worth it. I struggle to buy things beyond necessities for myself, as my parents accused me of being frivolous, of wanting the wrong activities or items. I have no idea if they would enjoy SUP, but I do know this: *I* enjoy it. It's a tough workout, but it's also so peaceful. I can lay on the board and just drift if I like. I can go fast if I like. I can get up at dawn and watch the world awaken, or I can go midday in the traffic of other paddle boarders.

Maybe I'll meet a cute man from six feet away.

Maybe I'll bring Chance and he'll learn how to sit on the front of the board. (He is so bouncy, I don't know how this would work! But he's a great swimmer, so if he falls in maybe that's okay?!

Maybe I'll pack a picnic and beach myself to rest.

I just know this: this summer, I intend to SUP, and to enjoy every second of it. Imagining it is bringing me light in this darkness.

It's lonely to be single in a quarantine. I'm tired of being lonely. I'm going to find joyful ways to occupy myself, things that I've wanted to do before but I couldn't.

Slow

When I was a little girl, my parents taught me that it was bad to be slow. I needed to be the best, the first, the smartest, the fastest. I was never the best, the first, the smartest, the fastest, and the shame burned deep and hot. Shame wasn't a thing I understood as a child - I didn't have a word for it, except that I knew that if I misbehaved my parents were ashamed of my behavior, or that I "ought to be ashamed" of myself. I associated the feeling of not being the best with a feeling of discomfort, fear, and a quick promise to myself to do better, to be the best next time.

But mostly I learned to hide how slow, slovenly, and mistaken I was. I pretended to feel like all was well, even when it wasn't. This was wise: mistakes were not tolerated, and were a sign of poor character.

It felt breathless and spinning and confusing and faint, and not in a good way.

So, I tried to go faster, do better, be better. I tried to be a Good Girl and rid myself of the breathless, faint feelings by living up to the standard. Sometimes I was successful: I put myself through college, working overtime to pay for it. I would read economics textbooks on the Stairmaster after work (a gym membership provided by my employer), maxing out the level for 45 minutes (the maximum amount of time), highlighter in my hand as I tried to study and go as fast as I could. Even just thinking of that, I'm exhausted. I felt proud of myself - not ashamed - and so I kept going, but it was so utterly exhausting.

***

When I go fast, people smile and encourage me. I used to run half marathons, and I was so proud of my sub-two time; it wasn't any kind of record at all, but I felt like I'd arrived when I hit that time. When I keep so busy that I'm half falling down as I go, I get so much praise about my energy and my accomplishments. My entire life, I have fed upon that praise, with each laudatory phrase filling up the empty parts of me that were rotted away from the shame.

Some of that's good. I've accomplished a few things.

But it's exhausting, and unsatisfying.

***

Yesterday on my walk, I listened to the Brene' Brown podcast interview with Alicia Keys, and was blown away when Alicia Keys said that she'd spent her whole life trying to be a good girl, and that despite her success, she felt like she was doing things someone else's way, and she was unsatisfied and unhappy.

This shook me a little. I've often felt like that, and put those feelings into the "you should be ashamed" box inside myself. But if the glorious, inspirational, talented, successful, and wildly empowering Ms. Keys felt like that, maybe, just maybe, those feelings were crazy. Because I may not know much, but I know for sure that I find inspiration in Alicia Keys, and that there is no way she deserves to feel like that. And, of course, it occurs to me that if Alicia Keys has to fight to shake off those feelings, that maybe I can fight off those feelings, too.

***

During the coronavirus quarantine, we are all forced to slow down. We do not need to climb out of bed before dawn to make the lunches and get into the commute. Heck - we don't even need to wear real pants, as all of the sweatpants/yoga attire/sleepwear memes attest. We cannot go to the exciting events, we cannot try out the new restaurant, we cannot host fabulous parties. We cannot shop, except to go to the grocery store (and we do that somewhat furtively, masked and darting around other shoppers).

There is nobody to see, and the hectic pace of daily life has suddenly slowed.

At first, this felt shocking, equal parts terrifying and decadent. But now it has been over a month - 38 days since work in the building ended, if I'm counting properly - and time has changed, and I've changed. Everything is slower, and I love it.

I love the way that I sleep in later than I used to; my body thanks me.
I love the way that we're cooking real food every day, with green things and whole grains, and from scratch; my body thanks me.
I love the way I go for walks or runs in the middle of the day, standing on the edge of the shore, carelessly letting time slip away.
I love that I have resumed baking bread, trying new recipes.
I love that I have picked up a new creative hobby, and have started making jewelry.
I love that my daughter and I are playing board games again. (We like Mancala.)
I love that I am not using nearly as much gas, and that I'm being kinder to the environment.

On Easter, we spent a couple of days baking cookies, and then spent most of a day delivering different plates of them to our friends. We had some social distancing visits - we brought camping chairs, and set up at the edges of our friends' yards, and just sat and talked for a while, perhaps 15 feet away. They didn't wait on us - no food or drink, no passing of dishes, no preparing - and it was surprisingly delightful. It filled me with gratitude, and the hope that I could make it through quarantine, no matter how long it lasts.

I would not have taken two days to make and deliver cookies in a normal world. I would have been too busy, too concerned about chores, activities, rest. I couldn't have done it without really psyching myself into it.

But now, I can.

***

The longer this quarantine lasts - and we know that our city will be shut down until May 4th, and that school isn't returning this year (so my quarantine goes on that long, at least) - the more I'm starting to... I fear I'm about to commit blasphemy by saying this... the more I'm starting to enjoy being home only with Tessa and our pets.

I like the quiet.
I love being slow.

I do not want to be the fastest. I do not want to be the best (who is the judge of "best" anyway?).

I want to be me.
I want to be authentic.
I want to live wisely and well.
I want to be peaceful.

I don't want to run around like a crazy person. I don't want to be so tired that the simplest tasks feel like they take too much energy. I don't want to paste a smile on my face as I keep goinggoinggoing.

I want to stare out the window and watch the rain. I want to wander on the beach looking for shells. I want to write my thoughts down, and have time to finish them. I want to read books until my eyes are weary, fighting sleep because I'm too interested to stop. I want to move my body every day. I want to live in a house that smells like baking bread. I want to laugh with my daughter.

Simple things.

***

The world told me to go fast, and my parents sent me the message that the things I love, the way I am, was unacceptable, and that I would have to conform in order to satisfy. (I forgive them. They were passing along the messages given to them; they had no idea of their impact.)

What I want, now, is to go at my own pace. Sometimes my pace is so quiet and slow that I can't even recognize myself, I've lived in this costume of myself for so long.

I'm breathing at my own pace.
I'm reading at my own pace.
I'm running and walking at my own pace.

And right now, that pace is slow, and the slowness is a gift.

***

The world tells us to hurry up, to rush to go-go-go. We love go-getters. We love up-and-at-ems. We admire pulling-up-by-the-bootstraps.

But what *I* admire is Mary Oliver's idea that perhaps all we should be doing is wandering in the fields. What if the answers are actually in the fields? What if all of this rushing and going and scurrying about doesn't make us wiser and stronger, but instead it makes us just rats on the treadmill, miserable?

I think, somehow, that I've stumbled on a secret (my secret, anyway - yours might be different). My whole life I thought that more and faster was the way to go (20 credits a quarter plus working while in grad school, what was I thinking?!).

I was wrong.

I want to wander in the forest, picking up pinecones and examining them.

I want to spend enough time with my daughter that her thoughts come tumbling out, on her own pace.

I want to cook, and eat, healthy food.

I want to be creative.

I want to settle my brain down enough to think.

***

I am one of the lucky ones. I'm still working from home, I live in a comfortable place big enough for my daughter and I to find our own spaces when we need them, and I live in a beautiful part of the world where I can walk to a forest or the ocean when my soul needs reprieve (and I can socially distance there, too). These days I'm pretty healthy, and so is Tessa, so I'm not as worried about getting sick. I know that my life is filled with luxuries - fresh food, comfortable clothes, books, music - that others only dream of. I'm safe in my little bubble, and that is why I can slow down and find the good in a global pandemic, but make no mistake, I do not take my fortune for granted and I ache for those who are suffering.

If you are suffering, I send you my love. May you find prosperity and health, so that you too may have my fortune.

***

I am slowing down. After years of trying to prove that I wasn't, as my father put it, a "moron", and trying to prove that I am smart and there for worthy, fast and therefore worthy, I've decided that I'm probably a slow learner. I am content with that, because I am learning, and because the lessons are better when I get them (because some people never get their lessons).

I'm living slowly. I'm being slow. I'm a slow learner, and I'm at peace with that.

Isolation, day 26

Since the world is going through this with me, I suspect that my blog will serve mostly as my own reminders of my experiences of 2020, but if you're reading this, I hope it makes you feel less alone - or I hope you'll respond, and make ME feel less alone!

Because alone is getting lonely.

I am a PollyAnna. I have turned my lemons into lemonade more times than I can count. When my family didn't support my post high school education, I found a way to feel like a badass by putting myself through school, proving to myself and the world that I could do it. When I got cancer, I fought long and hard and never gave up, making huge sacrifices in my health to do years of treatment so that I could have a future, and once again, I felt like a badass. When I got divorced, the same thing: I decided that no matter what my feelings about the marriage, I would treat my daughter's father with dignity and I would include him in our lives, and I would set aside my fear and reclaim my career to create an independent and lovely life. Once again, doing so made me feel like a badass.

The difference between then and now is that I have always found a tribe of people to go through hard times with. I'm famous in my circle of friends for inviting people over and feeding them: in the summer, after a day of hiking or hanging out on a beach or just doing chores, I'll text friends to pop in and bring something to share (or not). I have a little table and chairs positioned in a shady spot in my back yard, and I'll cover it with delicious selections (cheese and crackers, fruit, a home made eggplant dip, a tomato tarte, smoked salmon, hummus and veggies, heated Trader Joe's items like spanokopita) and cucumber mint water, sparkling water, and lots of wine. Or I'll host an impromptu BBQ with grilled veggies and chicken, and my friends will bring salads and desserts. Sometimes it's just one friend who drops in, and I'll make a pot of coffee or tea, or open a bottle of wine. We'll sit on the front porch, or in my living room, or at the kitchen table (the cozy little one by the window where the light streams in) and talk about everything and nothing. On summer evenings, my porch swing is in the shade. On spring days, my porch swing is almost touched by the lilac tree that grows in the side yard, and when we sit out there the motion of the swing releases sweet scents.

Sometimes I'll sit on the porch swing alone, but neighbors passing by will wave as they pass by, exchanging a few words, or sometimes they'll join me.

On the weekends, my friend Michele and I often do the five mile Lincoln Park loop, chatting merrily about our lives, solving the world's problems, playing with ideas, and just enjoying the bits of nature we encounter. Sometimes she'll come in afterwards and we'll have a coffee or a snack or lunch, and we'll sit on my sofas, caught up in the moment of discussion until the minutes or hours slip away.

On weekdays, my colleague-friend Mai will invite me to walk the track at lunch with her. How I regret every time I said "not today, I need to get something done at lunch" now! My colleague-friend Jeannette has the classroom across the hall from me, and we talk about our kids (the ones that belong to us, as well as the kids at school) and funny stories about our days and our struggles, and we support each other. How I miss those snippets of conversations!

Those simple memories are the ones I ache for now. When will I get to sit in a room with another adult?

Reminiscing about it is wonderful and heartbreaking. These are my simple pleasures, and I miss them more than I can say. There are bigger things, too - hiking in national forests an hour or two from here, going to work with my wonderful colleagues, going downtown for a variety of activities, shopping the farmer's market (which I usually do alone, but I always run into people I know for great conversations) and so much more.

I miss the sounds of a basement with a handful of teenagers laughing and teasing one another and watching movies and eating what I tease is "disgusting" food (Hot Cheetos, Dominoes Pizza, chicken nuggets, sour gummy worms, etc.) but which I buy them anyway because I think it's awesome that they want to hang out at my house, where I know they're safe and having fun.

So, this is what isolation is like. I'm noticing all of the simplest things, feeling their absence with grief, loss, and some fear. When will we be able to indulge in the simple pleasure of walking to Husky Deli at 7pm on a summer evening, stretching our legs and bringing our dog, to stand on the sidewalk out front of the deli, enjoying their ice cream and chatting with friends and neighbors?

Here are other observations about self isolation:

Wearing sweatpants all the time - I ordered two new pairs from Amazon because I only had one pair - actually doesn't make me feel better. It makes me feel like I must be sick, indoors and wearing sweats. Today I put on a sundress with a light cardigan, just to feel less blah. I'll wear them sometimes, but wearing them all the time doesn't help.

I look forward to even the smallest amount of social interaction. We're at the height of it in America right now, so we've been advised to limit ALL interaction, including trips to the grocery store. I was able to go about 11 days between grocery trips last time, and this time my plan is to make it 2+ weeks, so on Sunday when I went to Trader Joe's I knew it would be my only foray into the world for two or more weeks. Chatting with the check out clerks was a treat and a privilege, one that I normally wouldn't think twice about. Last night, we drove to Alki to see the pink supermoon over the city, and stopped at Habit Burgers to get take-out, and it felt like a much more luxurious experience than a drive through!

We wear face masks every time we leave the house. I ordered several from Etsy, where they are getting harder to find and more expensive by the minute. At first I thought I only needed one, but I like to go outside every day to get sunshine (or rain, for that matter) and exercise, and every time I wear it the moisture of my breathing makes it disgusting, so they have to be washed regularly. I ordered Tessa and I a few more - if we're going to be wearing these for months, we will have a small selection of styles, but more importantly, we will have no excuse not to wear them. (Not wearing something that is filled with moist air expelled from our noses and mouths is also a bonus.)

When I'm doing errands, a face mask is no big deal. But when I run, it makes me feel like I have no air all - I had to rip it off my face to gasp for breath. I bring it with me to exercise now, but only put it on if I'm too close to others.

When I'm in public, I have a hard time trusting anyone without a face mask now. They say that we can be asymptomatic for somewhere between six and fourteen days (I've seen conflicting information), and that when we breathe, cough, or sneeze the droplets from our breath can stay in the air somewhere between a half hour and two hours; when we cough or sneeze, six feet away isn't nearly far enough. So, anyone without a mask is someone I'm leery of, because maybe they're not paying attention, maybe they don't care, maybe they don't take social distancing seriously. (Or maybe they just can't get their hands on a mask, because of the shortages.)

But mostly I'm not in public.

Mostly, I am at home. I'm working - for which I am ever so grateful - teaching students from my computer, in my home office in the daylight basement. The office itself is a nice space, filled with the plants from my classroom (thank goodness I brought them home!), with windows on two walls, and a stand sit desk and swivel chair. I have a cozy chair and ottoman in the corner, perfect for reading or grading. I have WiFi, a working printer (with ink!), and everything I could use.

I find the time with my students a reprieve and a delight, but sitting at my desk doing the other work - meetings, grading, lesson planning - is twice as difficult as it used to be. It reminds me of my isolation. My lovely office, with no distractions, pretty soft blue walls and the white painted wood furniture that I picked out, the art, the candles, the plants, the necessary supplies, eases my grief but comes nowhere near to erasing it.

It's a struggle.

But not as much as it is for my lovely daughter, who is 17 and so removed from every part of the life she craves: friends, favorite teachers, independence, time away from home so that she can enjoy it when she returns. I ache for her losses. She's taking a class she's been excited about - forensics - since before she started high school, and she feels like she's losing out. She has a favorite teacher or two that she really admires, and she's missing them. I feel her yearning, and her loss. She'll never get to do over her junior year again, and she is missing so much and feeling the pain.

But here we are. We are diligent about our social distancing, determined to do our small part. And make no mistake, for all of my moaning here, I know how lucky I am. As a matter of fact, I feel guilty about having these feelings of loss, because so many others have lost so much more than I have! I have a job, and therefore income, so I'm not worried about paying the mortgage or feeding myself. I am healthy, and not in a high risk group. I do not live in a tiny apartment, but in a home with space for us to have our own spaces, and a yard where we can sit outdoors with no concern about strangers (or friends for that matter) breathing on us. We can work/do school from home, with all the technology we need.

We are the lucky ones. And it's hard if you're lucky, like us, so it's even harder for those who worry about food, have no internet, don't have a job anymore. It's hard for the parents of little kids, who are trying to work while entertaining a toddler. It's hard for people in abusive relationships, trapped with their abusers. It's hard for little kids who simply don't understand what's happening. It's hard for elderly folks who feel even more isolated. It's hard. So hard.

But there are joys, too. I can breathe, because I'm not rushing. Tessa and I have played board games, and made jewelry together. She's sharing funny TikTok's with me. We look forward to watching shows together (our shared favorite: Zoe's Extraordinary Playlist) in the evenings. I'm exercising more (though not nearly enough!) outside, and doing basement yoga. (Well, yoga is on pause, because Chance ate my yoga mat! He shredded it to smithereens. I think he did it because I kept trying to make him go away last time I did yoga and he wanted to "participate" in unhelpful, un-zen-like ways, and so he took out his frustration at being excluded on the mat. Funny dog! The new one was ordered over a week ago, and is set to arrive on Saturday.)

I'm reading. I'm writing. The house is decorated for Easter, and we're planning an Easter brunch in our Easter clothes (sundresses), even though it's just the two of us. Tessa wants bacon, I want blueberry lemon tea bread, and we'll figure out something for the main dish (quiche? fritatta? eggs benedict?). I'm trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy, and enjoying a special meal at Easter is part of that. We bought Easter candy that's tucked away until Sunday, and the table has the funny little Easter Tree that I bought when Tessa was little (she'd redecorate it over and over and over, moving the little eggs around the small branches a hundred times in a row) and the pastel Easter egg dishes. It's a small ritual to bring it out, but it feels like a tiny drop of normalcy in a sea of uncertainty.

There are walks by the sea. There are calls with friends. There's good food. There's Netflix, Hulu, and good books in quantity (including some dropped off on my porch by the local bookstore the same day I ordered them - talk about great service, Pegasus Books!).

I'll get through. This, too, shall pass.

Other strange observations:

We are using soap in incredible quantities, matched only by our use of hand lotion. Tessa's prone to dry skin, and her hands are cracking and bleeding; mine are merely itchy and dry.

The dog has gotten quite used to this. Chance is going to struggle when we go back to work!

I'm still losing weight - down another pound this week on Weight Watchers. Woo hoo! If I hadn't joined WW and committed to losing weight before this, I'm pretty sure I'd be up 10 pounds by now. My weight loss is slower than before isolation because I've enjoyed some brownies and two different burgers, but I don't feel bad about it. I'm still losing, my BMI is back in healthy range, my clothes look and fit better on me, and I'm thrilled by it. I'm really embracing the "it's a lifestyle, not a diet" philosophy of WW, and I think I can do this for the rest of my life.

Tessa and I are getting on better than I could have hoped. I am SO GRATEFUL for that. She's upstairs learning sign language from an online video at the moment, and that makes me happy.

I had to rejoin Amazon - having some new things arrive has been helpful. Tessa and I are making jewelry from supplies we purchased; my new yoga mat is from Amazon; I even ordered new underwear because the first clothing that was too big was my stretched-out underwear!

The world is quiet, and I like that. I can't hear cars, trains, or loud noises in the distance. They say wildlife is creeping back in, and I love that vision.

I have only driven my car a few miles in several weeks; I can't remember the last time I got gas.

It could be a lot worse.

How long?

Day 18 in social isolation/voluntary quarantine/stay at home/ stay-home-stay-safe.

How long is this going to last?

When school shut down, they declared things closed until April 27.

The President is now saying that the social distancing needs to go through April 30.

Arizona schools just closed through the end of the year.

Our superintendent (OSPI's Reykdal) has mentioned "into the fall" several times.

I'm waiting for new news today, as they have announced that Trump is going to release the COVID-19 infection and fatality predictions. With that, I anticipate learning more about when this might stop. But I fear that none of the predictions or shut-downs so far is the truth, and that truth is that this could go on for a very. long. time.

What is a very long time? A year? I don't even know.

What I know is this:

The best way to save live is for me to sit in my house, using WiFi for connection, eating good food, reading, doing crafts, watching movies, and working in my home office. I can go for walks or runs, do yoga (despite the fact that my dog just ate my yoga mat....yes, really). I can have virtual happy hours. I can garden. I can order things I need online (like a new yoga mat). I can go to the grocery store, wearing one of my new face masks from Etsy, once a week (or less).

This is hard. I don't like it. Sometimes I'm lonely, often I'm bored, even though there is plenty to do.

But I am incredibly lucky, and I am not going to squander my good fortune by risking getting sick or making others sick. If this lasts a month or a year, it's my job to take advantage of my good fortune and make the best of it.

But how?