“When the physical threat of coronavirus subsides, as it surely will, we must address the impact to our mental health” — Luciana Berger
Endemic Definition: “…a disease or a condition, regularly found and very common among a particular group or in a particular area” — Cambridge Dictionary
Three years into the COVID-19 pandemic and we are the next stage of its evolution as the virus becomes endemic. It’s now living with us, and for some of you, living in you as Long COVID. To the best of my knowledge, I’m a Never COVID, COVID Virgin, or COVID Target. Yes, I’m still vulnerable, however, I’m grateful. It required three years of isolation including, social distancing, healthy practices, sacrificing time with friends and family, avoiding indoor restaurants, stores, and events, many of which gave my life meaning and pleasure. For some of the past three years, I worked remotely, and when in the office, masked.
Now that I’m recovering from hip-replacement surgery and have physical mobility and mental well-being restored, I’m ready to reenter life, to do the things I enjoy that feed my spirit. Simple things: Movies in theaters, afternoons in museums and art galleries, concertgoing and plays, and most important, attend larger gatherings of friends and families, both indoors and outdoors. There’s the effect the pandemic has had on my work too as an AODA Advocate, much of my work is outreach and collaboration directly in the community. I’ve been stifled. I’m ready to reengage.
I consider myself an ambivert (see essay at the end of this dispatch). I enjoy and protect my solitude, yet I require connection with others. Most of us have been living the past three years as introverts, and for many, it has affected mental health. We are also on the verge of winter becoming spring. For me, as a resident of the Midwest, I’m weary of the darkness and the mole life. I’m experiencing the first symptoms of the itchy restlessness of spring fever.
It’s true, I came down with a case of spring fever again this year — the symptoms were clear: Itchy restlessness, daydreaming, and questioning the choices in my life — wondering what the future holds for me. Desires and appetites grow stronger. I begin to wear clothes outdoors that are inappropriate for the weather, light jackets, short-sleeves, go sockless with canvas shoes or sandals with snow underfoot.
I wake up earlier in the morning and rise before dawn. I crack open the screen door to smell the earth begin to thaw, and watch the characteristics of the daylight change, the relationship of the sun to earth. Instead of reminiscing about the past, I’m more likely to think about the future and what lies ahead. I want to move, awaken my senses, feed my desires.
Let the spring air in.
In this, what I hope, is the final Dispatch from the Hideout installment of the Wisconsin Historical Society COVID-19 Journal Project, I take a look at the confluence of the endemic and spring fever. First, for those new to the Dispatch from the Hideout series, some background:
Dispatch from the Hideout: The COVID-19 Journal Project
Circling back to the end of February 2020 and the COVID-19 pandemic I was forced to spend more time in the Hideout to protect my physical health, safer-at-home, I soon discovered that the isolation also affected my mental. emotional, and spiritual health. When the Wisconsin Historical Society launched the Wisconsin Historical Society COVID-19 Journal Project, I was all in, and to date, including this essay, I’ve contributed twenty-two installments about my experience as I sheltered-in-place, plus the three musings that preceded them. When you click on the link under Dispatch from the Hideout COVID-19 Journal Series at the end of this essay, you can read the entire series, if you wish (soon to be a book).
For those new to my Dispatch from the Hideout series:
I began my Dispatch from the Hideout as a one-off essay in July 2017 to describe my reaction to events in the world and my need to retreat. I was also grieving the losses in my life, the most recent at the time was my mother’s death in 2016. I introduced the series as follows:
Now, before I go any further, it’s important that I share with you that my hideout is a virtual one. I don’t have a cabin in the woods, or a bunker in the basement, I only have my home, a 645 square foot apartment. It’s where I wake up in the morning, retreat at the end of the work day, hideout on the weekends when I’m writing or feeling introverted, and end my days, often falling asleep on the couch watching TV. Yeah, I’m that girl. I live alone and most days I’m happy with that choice.
I discovered that the Dispatch from the Hideout metaphor was a useful vehicle for me to express innermost feelings, like grief and gratitude, moments when I faced my shadow, or questioned my choices, plus the times when I reflected on the larger world of which I’m simply a member, navigating things outside of my control, yet still have an impact on my heart, mind, and spirit. The Hideout metaphor served me and soon became a series.
The Long Winter of the Pandemic
March Comes in Like a Lamb. I’ve always enjoyed the metaphor for March weather as we transition from winter to spring. This year, at least in Wisconsin, it was a mild beginning, and also, this March, it’s a month a palindromes. More word and number play.
After three years of the pandemic — and a l-o-n-g winter — I’m ready — actually more than ready —to reenter life and do the things and be with the people who give my life meaning and pleasure. Before I continue, I want to give a shout out to my pandemic quarantine Pod Squad, friends and family, who I credit in keeping me physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually healthy. Grateful.
Quarantine Bubble Pod Squad. Illustration Credit: Pete Gamlin
This week, I attend the First Look at the Fest, a fundraiser and sneak peek of films showing at this year’s Wisconsin Film Festival while enjoying appetizers and an opportunity to order tickets before they go on sale to the public. I’ll return to viewing films in-person in packed, sold-out theaters for the first time in three years.
This morning, when I look out the windows in my writing alcove, the sky is blue, absent of clouds, and the quality of daylight is changing, as the earth grows closer to the sun. Most of the snow has melted, and the air is changing. I can smell the earth unthawing. Next Sunday, March 12, is the beginning of Daylight Savings Time, when we ‘spring ahead’ and enjoy the additional hours of daylight.
Spring Fever
Spring tides ebb and flow,
surge and crest,
flowering bulbs begin
to inch their way to daylight,
dormancy ends as shoots
break through the frost line
while the sun’s infrared heat
vibrates with a frequency that
radiates energy, liquefying
winter’s frozen mantle.
You can smell the earth,
the vernal muskiness of life awakening.
I wake earlier too and rise before dawn
to see the morning light in pink
and periwinkle hues, wispy clouds
like crinoline scrims across the horizon.
As the sun shines directly on the equator,
day and night become equal, the Spring Equinox arrives.
An itchy restlessness overcomes me;
it’s time to be reborn,
rethink my choices, ask the big questions,
the who am I, where am I’m going,
what does it all mean — mind wandering,
soul wondering, seeking.
The natural world ignites
my limbic brain like match to wick.
I’m fired up. I burn brighter,
as body memories spark emotions,
motivate movement.
My body craves raw foods, nuts and seeds,
leafy vegetables, red meat.
I forage for the fuel to drive me.
Desires and appetites grow unsated,
I want, I want, I want.
I am, I am
alive.
LLL
Spring Tulips
A Return to Life & Living
For some of us, including me, we need to rediscover how to find joy in our life again, after emerging from the long winter of the pandemic. This article from The New York Times appeared in my inbox this week and seemed perfectly-timed, How to Feel Alive Again by Katherine May.
“Ms. May, a British author who wrote the best-selling memoir “Wintering” about a fallow and difficult period of her life, had come across more hard times during the height of the pandemic. She was bored, restless, burned out. Her usual ritual — walking — had fallen away, along with other activities that used to bring her pleasure: collecting pebbles, swimming in the sea, savoring a book.”
“In Ms. May’s latest book, “Enchantment,” she describes how a simple series of actions, like writing that note, helped her to discover little things that filled her with wonder and awe — and, in turn, made her feel alive again.”
Melissa Kirsch, in today’s NYT’s email This Morning, talks about returning to the activities we enjoyed when younger. She comments:
“Many readers then told me about the long-dormant skills and forsaken hobbies that they’ve rediscovered. I was struck by the confidence that comes from returning to horseback riding or ice skating or skateboarding again as an adult. Older and wiser, readers were able to dispense with their youthful hangups, to find meaning in what were once just extracurricular activities.”
One more writer’s take on happiness, Gretchen Rubin, in her NYT’s best-selling book, The Happiness Project poses the question, “What do I want from life, anyway?” One rainy afternoon, while riding a city bus, Gretchen Rubin asked herself, “What do I want from life, anyway?” She answered, “I want to be happy.” In a flash she dedicated a year to the happiness project.”
For me it’s a simple answer to the question of “What do I want from life, anyway?” I want to return to the things I sacrificed to remain healthy and alive during the pandemic. Now that I’ve had a successful hip-replacement, which has restored my physical health, mobility, and resolved my chronic pain, I want to return outdoors to nature, to take road trips, hike, and meditative walks. I haven’t seen my elderly father in months as I isolated prior to my surgery and during my recovery. Members of my Pod Squad — chosen family — are joining me for a road trip to my hometown to celebrate my father’s 93rd April Fool’s Birthday.
Dad & I, Spring, 2021
Dad, Leanne & Rene’
Soon, I can return to the Dane County Saturday Farmer’s Market, attend potlucks and gatherings with friends, enjoy museum and art gallery afternoons, movies, concerts, plays, and transition from isolation to engagement. I plan to perform stand-up comedy again, the performance I’m working on, Funny, Not Funny!
In my work with people in our LGBTQ+ and marginalized communities who still struggle with alcohol, substances and behaviors, I can interface with them in person again, meet them where they’re at, and do the work that feeds my spirit and contributes to our community.
I’m grateful that to date I’ve stayed COVID-free. I’m lucky, however it’s past time to return to life and living. The following musing about my life remains relevant, yet beyond living comfortably in my own skin, I need to become comfortable and live in the world again.
“My life has not always been easy, but it’s always been worth the effort. I’ve not always possessed what I’ve wanted, but I always received what I needed, and most days it was simply the love of friends and family, and the ability to live comfortably in my own skin.” — from Dispatch from the Hideout: Letter to Loved Ones
Dispatch from the Hideout Series
To read the entire Dispatch from the Hideout Wisconsin Historical Society COVID-19 Journal from most recent to oldest, click link below:
Dispatch from the Hideout: Hip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah!
Related Reading from Mixed Metaphors, Oh My!
The Itchy Restlessness of Spring Fever
Creatures of Habit: Harbingers of Spring
Seasons/Change (Poetry Chapbook)
Additional Reading on the Subject
Is the COVID-19 Pandemic Over, Or Not?
Epidemic, Pandemic, and Endemic: What’s the Difference?