The Quarantine Chronicles - An Ode to Hope
I am an Aussie expat living in New York City at the time of the Coronavirus. Living in this city at this point in time has brought up many questions about home, family and safety and has prompted many concerned texts from long lost friends from back home and around the world. True, being in the epicenter of this epidemic is quite unsettling so I’ve decided to start this blog as a way of sharing an experience and inspiring hope for a better world in the future. Welcome to The Quarantine Chronicles – An Ode to Hope. We’re all in this together.
Chronicle #1. In the Beginning
I saw this quote on Facebook this morning and I couldn’t help but smile;
“Please stop asking New Yorkers if we are OK. We are at the epicenter of COVID-19, we are not OK. Most of us are unemployed, living in an apartment with no outdoors and have sirens as our continual soundtrack. We are not OK, but just getting by. Perhaps ask us what we are drinking right now instead.”
I’m drinking a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc – way cheaper here than it is back home. My sister in Sydney texted me the other day to say that she was so relieved that they were going to open the beaches again just to swim and walk on the sand, with social distancing in place. She said “thank god! I need it for my mental health.” and I wanted to punch her through the phone. I have lived in New York for nine years and I have never felt so far away from home. I had a flight booked back to Australia just before the quarantine came into place and I chose to stay because I didn’t want to lose my job. It turns out that I could have gone as, being a theatre Professor and acting teacher my work is now either online or non-existent. So it turns out that I could have gone home, kept my last remaining jobs and walked on the beach and swam everyday. Not that I’m bitter about it. I can still go home. But it’s funny the way things turn out.
I think we are in week four of the stay at home order here and the cabin fever is well and truly beginning to sink in. It’s not easy, especially being so far away from my family. Most of my friends have left the city and those who are here I can’t see as going outside is getting more and more scary and it’s kind of impossible to get around unless you have a bike or a car (who in NYC owns a car?). Getting on the subway feels like a death sentence and aren’t we supposed to not move about anyway? (Or am I the only one being a stickler for the ‘rules’) So I’m left feeling really alone in a foreign land (even though I’ve lived here for 9 years), at times unsafe and definitely not OK. But I’m dealing with this unexpected situation very much the same as everyone else around the world – one moment at a time. Because hey, we’ve all been affected by this in some way, shape or form.
Every now and then I get messages from people back home or from around the world, most of whom I haven’t spoken to for many years, asking how I’m coping, that they hear it’s awful over here and that they are thinking of me. And in that moment of receiving that message I get mixed feelings of being very touched and also extremely anxious and confused, because I thought that surely my experience isn’t that much different from anyone else’s in a big city around the world. What are they telling you out there about what is going on in New York? Sure the numbers of infections and deaths are out of control but I’m left wondering what everyone’s idea of scary is. So in a quest to settle my anxious stomach, I thought I’d put down in words what it looks like out there, to put things in perspective and find comfort in the thought that I think the world’s collective experience is equally as scary. And I mean that with the best possible sentiments.
As I write this I am looking out of my apartment window on the 16th floor in Midtown Manhattan. It’s not a bad view. I can see the lights of the city and if I lean out of the window far enough I can see the Empire State Building and the lights on the New Yorker Hotel. 5 weeks ago that would have been envy inducing. Now, not so much. I’m drinking a lovely glass of Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc and have just eaten a very healthy meal of home cooked risotto. I cooked a batch three days ago and I’ll be eating it for three days to come. As I look out the window I’m not sure what the world is expecting me to see, but it isn’t a scene from a horror movie that inspires panic. From the frenzied messages I’ve been getting you’d think there were dead bodies piling up on the streets, crazed armed bandits terrorizing everyone or hideously sick people walking around everywhere deliberately infecting people by directed coughs and sneezes. This isn’t happening… yet, although I do hear there are refrigerated trucks driving around Brooklyn full of dead bodies and I have to admit I conjure up such apocalyptic pictures in my head when I listen to the news or get a panicked ‘are you ok’ message. But when I come to the window or go outside, what I actually see calms me down.
Yes, the streets are empty, which for New York City is strange. No cars, no people and strangely enough, no sirens. At first that was creepy, but now it’s quite calming. I can actually hear the birds. There is a lone seagull that flies above the apartment at night, calling out to me, perhaps as a reminder of the home that is calling for me ten thousand miles away. I live two blocks away from the Javits Center, a huge convention center that has been converted into a 2500 bed Coronavirus overflow hospital. I thought this would mean an increased volume of sirens, but strangely enough, I can’t hear them. They must take a different route. The Army Corps is manning this hospital so there are many khaki uniformed men and women walking the streets. They are not armed, when I pass them on my daily walks they seem peppy and upbeat and they are very good at walking in big groups 6 feet apart. They all wear masks and pop into the space at Hudson Yards that has been converted to a free meal dispensary for essential workers. Every night at 7pm when they and other health care workers finish their shift, the occupants of the apartment buildings that line 34th st lean out of our windows and applaud them, which brings a beautiful sense of community to a normally disconnected tribe. I wave at neighbors I’ve never met before and have become quite fond of the man who always comes to the window dressed only in a robe, banging on his saucepan. It makes me wonder if he ever gets dressed at all now. This is my favorite part of my day. Clapping o’clock as I have named it.
Outside, nearly everyone wears a mask and the usually cheerful doormen in my building don an unusually disheartened body language as they open the door for me to take in my daily fresh air. Perhaps I shouldn’t go outside, is it dangerous? I don’t know. But we can and I have to otherwise, like my sister without her beach, I would go insane. Being in the fresh air is one of the only things that calms me down. When I walk down to the river, it’s the only time that I feel like anything resembles ‘normal’. This is the time when I realize that no matter what is going on among the human race, Mother Nature is keeping the ball rolling. The sun rises and sets as normal. The birds are still chirping, the geese are still ferociously mating and the Hudson River is still flowing, the current raging as fiercely as ever. When I get to the river and hear the sound of the water flowing and stare up into the sky, the anxious feeling in my belly subsides. Spring is here, the trees are blooming, the sky is the least polluted I’ve ever seen it and life goes on. Mother Nature is taking care of what we need to survive – the planet – and after this tragedy has passed, life will go on. Sure we will lose many loved ones before that and that is tragic and hard, but I’m trying to find comfort in those four small words – life will go on. Those of us who are fortunate enough to get through it will be forever changed, life as we knew it will never be normal again, but it’s my hope that this will all be for the better.
Then as I head back to my apartment and the light starts to fade, anxiety o’clock rears it’s ugly head. This is when I get trapped in my head and I think of the horrors that our essential workers are facing, this is the time that I can hear the far off sirens and the medical helicopters starting their shift. This is the time that the dreaded feeling of loneliness creeps in as do the thoughts of never being able to get back home. Anxiety o’clock, when I get nervous about surviving financially and hoping that my healthcare will last for another month. This is when I yearn for the safety and comfort of home. A country that, lo and behold America, provides free healthcare for all, a country that houses that most precious commodity of all – family. I’m sure I’m not alone in saying that I came to New York to follow a dream. And now that that dream has been yanked out from under my feet, this city and country has lost its luster. (No it’s spelled lustre, this is the daily battle I have with my American English spellcheck!!) And I’m left wondering, what is left for me here anymore? I’m sure there are many New Yorkers that are thinking the same thing.
But wait a minute. I was supposed to be writing something that was inspiring hope. I’m getting to that part. What I want to say is this, yes things in New York are bad, but I don’t think my experience is any worse than any of yours, no matter if you have a beach to run on, a car in which you can escape the city, are surrounded by a loving family or are alone in an apartment with an annoying dog or three year old child. Hell, my friends in Spain and Italy can’t even go out to exercise. We’re all going through the same existential hell (or blessing if you want to look at it that way) but I know I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m healthy, I have food delivered to my front door, I have quality wine in my hand and a wonderful view. I have a roof over my head and tomorrow my housemate is going to cut my hair! Amazing! No one I directly know has died and those who I know who have become sick have recovered. For this I am eternally grateful. And despite the anxiety and tears, the loneliness and uncertainty, I now know what is important in life. People, family, connection and a sense of belonging. My whole life has been dictated by achievement and success, but that all now seems insignificant. What I’m craving now is home and I now know where that is. It’s where my heart is, and that is all that matters. How much longer will I hang on here in the city that never sleeps, I don’t know, but for now, like the rest of you, this Aussie come New Yorker is taking things just as I think we all are: one day at a time…. No one hour at a time…. No one minute at a time…. Or better yet, one breath at a time. And I am eternally grateful for every breath that keeps my blood flowing and my life going on.
Thank you for the messages. They mean the world.
We will get through this. Hang in there. We’re all in this together.