five at a time.

I got a book of poetry by Maggie Smith in the mail yesterday. I ordered it early in this pandemic, knowing it was an unnecessary purchase for my wallet but an important one for my heart. It arrived last week but I’m limiting trips to my PO box, located right in the middle of campus, probably the busiest spot these days. I tore off the packaging and started reading, searching the Table of Contents for the poem for which the book is named (Good Bones). I stopped myself after four more poems, put a bookmark between the pages, and set it on my end table, on top of another half-read book.

“Huh,” I thought. “Isn’t that something. Two books at once!” 

I looked around my apartment and saw another book on my couch. Oh, I thought, I guess I was reading that this weekend, too. I looked around — my bedside table, my desk, my bathroom — and I had not one or two or three in-progress books lying around, but five. Five! I have never read more than two books at one time, and even two-at-a-time is a rarity. It was a bit disconcerting that, without realizing it, I’d become a five-books-at-once person. At least for now.

Seeing these books scattered around my home caused me to wonder: What other parts of me have changed ever-so-slightly during these times?

I speak of “change” loosely. I will not buy into the nonsense that we should use this time of quarantine to become Better Versions of ourselves, though it’s tempting. To use this time to get healthy and fit, to start a side hustle, to deep-clean the closets in our houses and maybe the garage rafters while we’re at it, to teach ourselves Portuguese and get our kids to learn it, too. The pressure, accompanied by the feelings or language of “should,” that every moment should be spent becoming the Best Version of ourselves? That is harmful shit that comes from our productivity-obsessed, white supremacist, capitalist society. We do not have to do anything other than what makes us feel a little bit more okay. That’s it.

(And, side note: If any of that feels good to you during this time, then do it! But only if it’s truly how you want to spend your time. Deep-cleaning and working out and vigorous washing of the dishes have been balms for me, areas of my life that I can control in the midst of the unknown. But that was true before this time, too.)

Because things are different now. Time feels different and routines are different and how we show up in our day-to-day — with our work and our families and ourselves — is wildly different. We’ve been asked to adapt, to pivot, to change our lives. This pandemic was like: “Here is a thing that you did not ask for and don’t know how to handle but, like it or not, it is all yours to figure out! Good luck and godspeed!” And that fact is changing us; in small ways, like my book-reading habits, and in bigger ways, like the effects of extended isolation and extended time with our partners/children/housemates and a shifted work/life rhythm. 

For myself, quarantine has brought a lot of alone time. I’m single, I don’t have kids, I live alone. I’m used to alone time, but this is some unprecedented alone time. So in trying to figure out what to do with my unstructured solitude — days and hours of the quiet, my connection to other humans through a screen that sometimes hurts my eyes — I’ve been thinking about who I am. This time is providing an opportunity to question how and why I do things — to come face-to-face with myself in a different way.

Why do I only read one book at a time? Why am I still meal-prepping the same salad for lunch every day even though I have plenty of time to cook and eat something different? Who am I when I haven’t been a human in the way I’ve been one for the last 29 years?

I’m learning I can read more than one book at a time, switching easily between a thriller and poetry. That my internal motivation for leaving my bed or couch or desk is dangerously low when it comes to working out. But, for writing in the mornings, my motivation is a bit higher. It’s surprisingly high for going into the office (AKA my second bedroom), too. I’m learning that I prep meals not because I don’t have the time but because I do not like to cook! I still don’t take my vitamins or regularly floss, despite this extra time. I still do make my bed every morning. I don’t talk to myself as much as I thought I would, though I’m learning how to speak up in different ways -- to admit when things are not okay, even when it feels like I should just get over it. 

I’m learning that my natural state of thinking is in scarcity mode, and I’m learning (trying to learn) how to adjust that. I’m gentler with myself in some ways and have developed harder edges in others. I’m learning (trying to learn) how not to stare at myself during every Zoom call. To instead close my eyes a minute before each meeting starts to pretend I’m really with the person on the other side of the screen. I’m learning this experience is not a competition for who has it worse, who is more tired, who is more stressed or overworked. I’m allowing myself to be sad and scared and lonely, even though there’s guilt that creeps in that things could be much harder for me. And I’m learning to forgive myself for wondering if I should be trying to change for the better, even though I don’t buy into that narrative.

I am learning the very complicated ways I am a human during this time.

In moments of “shoulding” on myself, and in moments of restlessness or fear or scarcity, I turn to the Instagram posts I’ve saved (a lot) and the articles I’ve bookmarked (several) that say to the collective Us: None of this is normal. It’s okay to react to social distancing however you react. Cry. Laugh. Savor it. Resent it. There is not a “right” or “wrong” way to do what we’re being asked to do. There is not a “right” or “wrong” way to cope with what we’re being asked to cope with. Do not feel pressure to use this time to become A Better Version of You. But you can if you want to, I guess. It is okay to change and be changed by what is happening. Breathe. In and out, in and out. Repeat.

This is hard for us all, in ways we will not know until we talk to each other, ask each other, “How are you, really?” This is changing us, in ways we will not know until we talk to each other, ask each other, “What’s different now?”

In big ways and in small ways, we are changing. We are changed. We may not know how changed until we see five half-read books piled up around our apartment, and think, “Huh, I guess I read multiple books at a time now.” We may not know how changed until we see someone face-to-face again, finally, and burst into tears. We may not know how changed until we head back into our offices and our changed lives and think, “This is not the same. This will never be the same.”

Maybe you have your own five-books-at-a-time version of change. Maybe everything is the same, or nothing is the same, or you don’t give a shit about how things have changed. All of it is okay. Breathe. In and out, in and out. Repeat.

Tonight, I’ll pick up Good Bones and read some poems. Then maybe I’ll read a bit of Running the Rift, a borrowed book from a former professor-turned-friend-turned colleague. And then, if I’m feeling really wild, I might end the night with a few chapters from another, different book! Just because. And to remind myself that though there are bigger, scarier changes — many are still to come — some are surprising, lighthearted, welcomed.

Huh. Isn’t that something.