This week we share stories about re-evaluating certain ways of thinking, as part of adjusting to the new reality of daily life
Untitled
Anonymous
I have never considered myself to be sensitive about my age; at least I’ve never actively lied about it. I simply prefer to ignore the number and proceed with living as a vibrant, hip, sophisticated adult. The facts that I threw away the AARP membership card when it came in the mail and (to my husband’s chagrin) would rather pay full price than ask for the senior discount merely indicates a desire not to be categorized.
Certainly, there have been occasions when I was suddenly gobsmacked by the implications of the number derived when subtracting the year of my birth from the current year. On a trip to celebrate my 21st birthday I was seated next to a precocious 8-year-old who, after delivering a 20 minute monologue about her life, stopped and bubbled, “so tell me what things were like when you were young.” On another birthday my youngest brother sighed wistfully and said, “Man, it’s hard to believe that I’m so old I have a sister who’s 40.” Then there was the night of the spoken word event at my daughter’s university when she soothingly stroked my arm as a performer described “…this really, really old woman—I mean OLD--like in her fifties.”
I had the good fortune to be able to retire in September, 2019 and was embracing my new position as a vibrant, hip, sophisticated adult now with complete control of her daily schedule. My calendar was full of theater, concerts, museum visits, political events, trips and gatherings with friends. Time was allocated every day to reading, working out and creative cooking or baking. Then suddenly the whole world crashed my retirement.
Watching my calendar wiped clean within a week was unsettling. The real jolt however was running headlong into the fact that my age puts me solidly in the high risk category for this disease. Overnight I became a person who is, depending on your political leanings, valued and in need of protection through intensive social distancing measures, or expendable and amenable to being placed on the ice floe to save the economy.
I am currently one of the lucky ones. My health is good, my family members are safe, I have a beautiful place to shelter, and plenty of food. I will count myself extraordinarily blessed if the worst consequence of this pandemic for me is having to acknowledge that I am in fact a senior citizen. In the meantime I find joy in each day and look forward to the time when all of us can interact live with our favorite people and activities. I will be right there as a vibrant, hip, sophisticated, “older” adult.
Challenges
By Sahar Ullah
It may also come as no surprise, but there are challenges to pandemic living—also known as, when shit hits the fan and splatters over all the walls of the room you are so privileged to take shelter in.
One of those challenges is getting things done.
Because what I think I need to do or want to do in the morning (if I actually roll out of bed in the morning) shifts every hour so that by the time I get to, say 4 PM EST, I think – Oh. I did not do that thing again.
I did not call that relative.
I did not apply for that job.
I did not respond to that email.
I did not write that letter.
I did not ask my partner if he applied for that other job.
I did not research my healthcare options.
I did not figure out how to get tested for antibodies.
I did not try to have babies.
I did not break down my monthly budget.
I did not decide whether I should finally remove the child safety bars that were installed in front of the bedroom window by a previous tenant so that I can hang out on the fire escape.
I did not order the indoor garden to grow herbs.
I did not submit the final round of edits for that journal article.
I did not read more tweets, posts, and messages about Ahmaud Arbery.
I did not watch that video.
I did not call the super.
I did not clean the oven.
I did not have that conversation about what do we do next?
I did not do those things, because at a certain point, I began menstruating and realized I didn’t need to be fasting so I could go for a quick flaming hot Cheetos and fruits and vegetables run while it was still daytime, and because at a certain point, the sun was shining so brightly through my windows although our phones promised there would be rain later in the day, and I realized I had no tomatoes and I wanted to eat fish curry for iftar.
So I did other things.
I put on jeans, a hoodie, and a mask. I grabbed the trash on my way out. I threw away the trash. I ran down the block. I quickly selected some tomatoes, a box of strawberries, and a whole cantaloupe. I said muchas gracias to the masked young man who gave me a black plastic bag to pack my things. I walked back to stop inside the bodega, and grabbed two bags of flaming hot Cheetos. I asked the masked brother behind the counter, How’s your Ramadan going and how is your family? He said, Alhamdulillah.
And then I ran back home and washed everything and myself and my clothes and sat in front of my window to witness snow flurries outside for 5 minutes.
And I feel so accomplished and fulfilled because I have everything I need at the moment to make a fish curry for iftar.
@saharullah
Call for Submissions!
We are putting out a call seeking stories from or about Essential Workers.
While many of us are experiencing the challenges of "stay at home," frontline essential workers continue to risk their health and safety to perform the jobs necessary for us to be able to be safe at home.
If you are an essential worker with a story to share, or if you have a story about how your life has been impacted by the important work of an essential worker, please submit a story here.
