covid-19 diaries, 6

I feel like window shopping has been a misnomer for a while. Nobody shops by admiring merchandise through window displays anymore; they shop by browsing inside stores.

I suppose covid-19 has returned the word to its original meaning then. All anyone can do, is stare at items through the looking glass and long for a world in which they can have such a possession within the walls of their own homes.

The thing is, does anyone actually want this stuff anymore? You know, the wooden picnic table you could put in your extraordinarily large backyard, with its dark-brown lacquer finish and three-stacked plates of different sizes, large water dispenser filled with faux-ice and imaginary fruits, and name cards for your friends so that ‘Naomi’ and ‘Kyle’ know where to sit when you finally host that dinner party under the setting sun and the lights you hang on your outdoor terrace?

Consumerism has always preyed on the aspirational. If you buy this, then you can attain that, where ‘that’ is always something so lofty (being loved by friends) or so mundane (being able to host dinner parties) that if you really sit and think about it, there’s no way that buying anything would be the actual gate to attaining whatever ‘that’ is.

If this is getting too heady and analytical, blame my brain, which is exactly who I blame as I wander the streets of downtown, observing all of these stores and the states they were left in when state orders forced them to close their doors.

My brain forces me to treat the activity like a history lesson; this is what stores wanted to sell me. But in a quarantine world, they really don’t have anything to offer me, literally, nor figuratively. What am I supposed to do with a large backyard dinner table, or a new blazer, or that special lotion? Who am I going to impress right now (and hopefully, ever)?

Still, I get emails from all of them, selling me with tons of discounts on online deals (some companies are getting desperate, I can tell), or selling me on the idea, just in the future. “Just wait until our doors are open again!” I can hear them yell.

The bonus of this exercise is that I start to ask myself: What do I truly need?

I think it’s a good time to ask this, as the world (i.e. the USA, obviously) begins to open up.

I go on hikes and see people returning to golf courses. I run past parks and hear the unique, bouncing sound of tennis ball meets tennis racket. I drive on the road an encounter traffic—I mean, what a lovely reminder of how the world used to be.

Here are a few ways I’ve changed, that I hope I keep.

One, I’ve really gotten into local news. This was something I picked up in Seattle but has really taken a new meaning now. I pay attention to what happens in my geographic vicinity, not just because knowing how many covid-19 cases there are here (versus some other state) is important, but because it’s also how I find opportunities to have a personal impact.

I’ve always felt that your emotional reaction to an event should be commensurate with your ability to have an effect on it. This is no different. Which is why I’ve been listening to state, and county-specific news. My county is where I live, and I will continue to look for ways to be a part of it.

Two, I should not take the ability to stay grounded, for granted. I’m starting to think that one of the marks of real emotional maturity is the ability to hold two opposing concepts together, e.g. appreciating the benefits of the current time while disliking it for the grief it causes for all who have died, worked overtime, have lost work, etc.

We all are getting restless, and it is difficult—and boring, to a degree—to fight a war with a faceless enemy. Another mark of maturity is the ability to sit with discomfort, knowing that there is nothing to do, other than wait and rest, that waiting and resting, is exactly the thing to do.

Three, this time has been a reminder that there is always more than one way to do a thing, and that the ability to adapt is incredibly useful. You’ve heard the debate posited in binary: Health versus Economy (and by Economy, specifically people’s jobs).

This is one of those false dichotomy things that I scoffed away in college but I guess is a real thing. There are ways to support people who have lost a job, there are ways to helping people innovate and create new jobs, and there are ways to still go out and enjoy the world while remaining health-conscious and socially-responsible.

For a while I was feeling really alone. Finally, I am finding ways to change that.

I am not alone when I go jogging through the once-busy streets of downtown, as I make eye-contact with other runners and we all make six-feet-worth of room for those just strolling through. I am not alone when I get a coffee or order take out and sit down outdoors and just watch nature and the other families around me. I am not alone when I go to Home Depot to work on house projects.

Four, is that—as always—priorities are important. If you do not prioritize your life, the world will do it for you. If you endlessly window shop from store to store, all of the stores will gladly take your money from you even when your wallet is empty. It’s possible to borrow from the future financially; it sure is possible to do that temporally, too.

I am lucky to have prioritized my family, friends, all my relationships in all its forms over the past years—I am lucky to have prioritized connection. Because that is what I have focused on adapting during this time. Game nights have turned to virtual game nights. Babysitting has turned to me goofing off and capturing my nephews’ attention during lunchtime. Working out at the gym amongst others has turned to working out at a public park with families and dogs. Hikes have turned to socially-distanced hikes.

And walking through downtown, continues to stay as walking through downtown. Because window shopping for me was never about the shopping, it was always about feeling like I was surrounded by other people, or who I was browsing with.

That doesn’t have to change.