2020 | Interlude
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2020 WAS …
To cover 2020, I present this interlude.
Definition of interlude: “an intervening or interruptive period, space, or event : INTERVAL” (I don’t understand why “interval” is in all caps, Merriam-Webster, but I’m sure you do.)
“Interruptive period”—yeah, that rings true for 2020. So what’s this interlude about?
I’m not sure yet. Let’s see where it ends up. I’m freestyling today.
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THE GOOD
Relationships
As the pandemic took hold in the US in March, I read with fascination several articles about “covidivorce”—the portmanteau describing the dissolution of a relationship where the couple discovered that they weren’t so happy together when forced to be near each other all day and all night, every day of the week. I remember looking at my spouse and saying something like, “This whole staying in and hanging out together full time feels pretty comfortable to me. You?” and he was like, “Yep,” and we continued in companionable silence (our introvert vibe is on point). During all this, I’ve felt incredibly fortunate to be going through it with someone whose company I genuinely enjoy.
Working from bed
Adjusting to working from home full time (and I acknowledge the place of privilege I’m coming from simply typing that statement) wasn’t as easy as adjusting to staying home full time (see previous paragraph about lovely spousal relationship). Those first few months were rocky. I refreshed this COVID-19 dashboard compulsively (every 30 seconds sometimes, blown away by how quickly the numbers were rising; I haven’t looked at it in months, yet as I write this, we’re near 100M global cases). I tried to keep everyone in our household sane while holding onto my own well-being by the thinnest of threads. Simultaneously, I helped my suddenly-remote team adjust our processes (nothing like a global pandemic to expose what’s really not working at work), and I’m happy to report that we’re humming along pretty smoothly these days. And it took months of tweaking my work environment to settle into just the right spot for me—bed.
I’ve migrated all over the house during these past 10 months, adjusting my location to set myself up with a neutral background perfect for video calls (before we tired of being on video all day), find the best daylight to keep my spirits up, and replicate the most “office-like” setup (a proper desk with dual monitors, external keyboard, trackpad, Post-Its, and pens of all colors on it), until I finally settled into a cozy array of pillows on my bed. True, it’s not doing anything positive for my posture (I combat this with a fair bit of foam rolling and running), but I find it a relaxing place to spend part of my waking day.
Productivity during a pandemic
Early in the pandemic, articles and posts exhorted us to do more, to make the most of this time in the various stages of lockdown we found ourselves in (self- or state-imposed)—learn a new language, start that online business, gain a new skill. I admire the go-go-gadget people who live like that, I really do, but I feel more comfortable swimming in the “to be more productive, try doing less” pool myself. I’ve spent much of this year refining my ability to focus on the things I care about (writing, painting, baking, playing). I find increased joy in the individuality of each day, and my work productivity is up too (bonus!).
Heck yes I made quarantine sourdough
I didn’t make my own starter, though. I’m not THAT ambitious. A longtime fan of the ease and deliciousness of the no-knead loaf, I turned my attention to sourdough like a bread-seeking lemming sometime in mid-spring. A gracious baker friend of mine hand-delivered starter to me via no-contact porch drop-off (getting to talk with her from 15 feet apart was the social highlight of my month), and I started baking. I usually follow the Tartine recipe and enjoy experimenting with different types of flour—I’m a fan of white-rye-whole wheat, and have more recently branched out into whole-grain einkorn flour for extra deliciousness.
I’ve gotten better at making croissants too, though I can’t figure out why I prefer to make them from scratch (which takes at least one full day) over walking to a nearby bakery. Such is the life of an amateur baker, I suppose. “Why buy it when I can make a pretty great version myself (even if it takes 10 hours)? Worth it.”
Reading
During this pandemic, I began to get into (drumroll please) nonfiction. I know! Stunning! I read Sapiens by Yuval Noah Harari, and my mind was blown, and now I’m apparently a nonfiction reader. (Never fear; I definitely read my fair share of escapist fiction. After realizing that compulsively doomscrolling the news and doom-refreshing the COVID tracker was terrible for my emotional well-being, I dove into my mighty fiction collection and escaped into the bliss of other worlds. Erin Morgenstern’s The Starless Sea was one such book, a fantastical ode to stories. And listening to Stephen Fry read the laugh-out-loud funny The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy quite lifted my spirits.)
I discovered the delight that is Stanley Tucci. Sure, I’ve enjoyed him in movies, but did you know he’s an excellent writer? He made funny quarantine cocktail videos and wrote picturesque and hilarious articles depicting life in his multi-generational household, recipes included.
My favorite piece of COVID writing was published early in quarantine, appearing in an April issue of The New Yorker. Karen Russell captured, in poetic, provocative prose, the essence of our collective experience. She brings our attention to the oxymoronic language born of the coronavirus (“social distancing;” “flatten the curve”), contrasts the macro collective dance we’re all participating in (uncertain what to believe, which plans to cancel, what steps to take) with micro snapshots of her life (attempting to craft; pulling her three-year-old in a wagon), and reminds us that we’re all connected, even whilst moving together on our solo journeys. It’s worthy sacrificing one of your monthly free New Yorker articles on. (Please don’t judge me for not subscribing; I have too many other subscriptions to keep up with as it is.)
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THE BAD
I spent a lot of 2020 in mental turmoil. I think most of us did. The whole global-pandemic thing tilted us off our individual and collective axes.
Early in the pandemic, someone close to me remarked that they felt like there wasn’t anywhere they could go in the entire world and feel safe. Doesn’t that encapsulate how we all felt as the virus unfolded here in the US? We were mice running around a maze that had no exit, and around every corner lay another trap. It was bad where we were, bad to the east and to the west, bad north and bad south. Flights were canceled, borders closed. We were stuck—stuck in our homes, stuck in our heads—because the coronavirus was everywhere.
Adding to the turmoil was the inaction of the US government toward anything good for the general populace, so we watched as things fell further apart. Watched and worried. Considered whether civil war was imminent. Considered whether we could keep living here if such blatant racism, sexism, misogyny, and cruelty would continue to be our government’s guiding principles. Thank you, November 2020, for showing us that pinprick of light. And thank you, January 20, 2021, for making it brighter.
I have my routine now. I venture out once every two or three weeks to buy so. many. groceries., only going to the store when we’re out of every fresh food. I wear two masks if I’ll be inside, one if I’m walking outside. It wasn’t until August that I saw anyone socially other than the people who live in my house, and then it was outside, masked, distanced. I miss my family, my friends. I miss those little collisions that brighten the day: a brief laugh shared with a colleague in the kitchen at work, a smile shared with a stranger in the grocery store, that feeling of connection we share with our fellows.
I miss traveling. I missed an annual family reunion I haven’t missed once since its inception when I was three years old. I miss the expansiveness of life. And the power to move freely.
I’m grateful for my home, which is full of books to read and art supplies with which to create and delicious food to eat and people to love. I’m grateful for this year, for what I’ve learned about what matters (velvet joggers) (jk, it’s the people I love (but also velvet joggers)); for the progress we’re making as a society and as a world; for resilience and creativity and connection.
Burnout
I recently finished reading the audio book version of Burnout, a book on stress and womanhood, connection and grace, by Emily and Amelia Nagoski. I promptly bought a hard copy of the book so I can refer back to it as needed.
If you’re going to read one nonfiction book, this is the one to pick up.
You’ll learn how chronic stress compounds in your body, how to dispatch that stress by completing the stress cycle each day, and how to be a stronger version of yourself. Plus, it tackles tough topics with humor, which makes anything easier to imbibe and digest.
Release the shackles of accrued stress, and begin anew.
Ted Lasso
If you haven’t found yourself charmed by the Apple TV+ series Ted Lasso, climb on that wagon, for it is a worthy ride to take. First, get yourself a subscription. Apple offers free trials, and you can blow through the ten-episode series in a week, easy. (You might end up keeping your subscription, though, so joy-inducing is Ted Lasso, it merits a re-watch or two.)
Ted Lasso is a balm in these troubled times, the story of a graceful leader who doesn’t let life’s punches knock him down, who invites playfulness and its pal joy into nearly every interaction, who is genuinely curious about others. By the end, you’ll want to style yourself after Ted Lasso, at least in temperament, for our society would be served well were we all to emulate his inherent goodness, gentleness, compassion, and magnanimity.
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FAVORITES
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WHAT’S NEXT?
I began writing this newsletter years ago, sharing it with my team of seven people. I sent one whenever I found enough articles relevant to the work world I inhabited: mobile, tech, words. Eventually my audience grew to include my much larger work team, so I styled it more carefully, made it prettier, got less personal, dialed down the silliness. When it was time to move on from AT&T, I turned all those newsletters into the front page of my online portfolio.
When I moved to Microsoft three years ago, I tried to keep up with my newsletter on the side, for I continue to love reading and keeping up with advances in technology, privacy policy, and writing. It’s not as high a priority, though, so it’s time to break free of the monthly cadence I’ve tried to follow these past few years. (Perhaps you’ve noticed that I’m perpetually behind.)
I’ll keep writing, but I won’t bind my posts to a particular month anymore.
Onward, 2021.