A year after COVID-19 hit the U.S. like a tidal wave, I am keeping afloat in quarantine mode, working from home, teaching classes, and taking meetings online, and my kid is still going to school virtually. I manage and experience both time and space differently as a result of the pandemic. Because of the constraints on where I can be and with whom, I have managed my time differently over the course of the last year. I spend less time with friends but the time I do spend with them is more meaningful, especially if it happens in person. I spend less time speaking with people who I do not want to speak with. I still get caught in (Zoom) meetings that I don’t want to be in, but unlike pre-pandemic life, I can more easily multitask (unfortunately, so can my students).
My attention to schedules has changed over the course of a year. When the pandemic was still new, there was a certain freedom to let go of rigid schedules, to take a walk in the middle of the day and lower my expectations for what I could do well. Because so many things were outright cancelled, we found more time to do other things. But like the virus, people are adaptable, and because we must continue to sell our labor to pay the bills, even in these trying times, work cannot simply stop. Classes moved online. Meetings moved online. Conferences moved online. Socializing moved online. I’m busier than ever, beholden to my work schedule, skipping online social time because, by the end of the day, I want to throw my computer out the window. I find myself staring out the window wondering if I will amass more than 500 steps today. Capitalism, too, is malleable.
I missed three Zoom meetings last week. Or was it four? Only one, a doctor’s appointment, was something I needed to attend. I missed it because I made the exceptionally rare choice to read in the sunny living room for an hour, instead of sit at my desk upstairs, where I left my phone and computer. The other meetings were aspirational, if I had time, which I didn’t. When my calendar reminded me that I forgot, my reaction was irritated, a little disappointed in myself, but mostly resigned to the fact that even the simple act of logging into a computer feels burdensome. Because space and time have become so compressed–we can attend talks given online by someone in another part of the world. We can devote all of our time to online life. By stepping away from my computer, and hence my calendar of reminders, instead I read in a brighter room, went for a walk, cooked dinner, and spent time with my attention-deprived daughter.
My tolerance for disorder in the house has never been higher; until 2020, it was not high at all. I used to stay up late straightening the house, putting things in their proper place, doing dishes, folding the laundry, sweeping the floor. An orderly house meant an orderly life and I spent significant time managing the house. Pandemic me goes to bed and wakes up in chaos. We let laundry sit in baskets, unfolded, for days. Piles of lint bunnies and dirty laundry surround the bed, socks are askew around the living room. I carefully step around the Legos, stuffed animals, old New York Sunday Times, shoes and rollerblades when walking across the house to get to my office. Occasionally I do so without yelling about the mess. I do not know if I am spending less time on housework, or if there more housework to be done because of quarantine life. I don’t know if the layout of this house (no separate playroom for toys) is a significant part of the “problem” or if it’s quarantine life. In any case, the house is a mess and I don’t care to spend the necessary hours per day tending to it.
This is all to say that I spend less time worrying about some things that I used to worry about and more time worrying about other things. I used to spend time on housework and felt constantly rushed to get from one place to another. I am one of those people who is at best on time and often a little bit late. For the last year, I have rarely felt rushed, mostly because I’ve had few face-to-face meetings or appointments that were not social in nature for an entire year. My only face-to-face appointments were eye doctor, dentist, podiatrist, physical therapy, and one haircut. Though I have organized a few social gatherings, necessary committee meetings, and one online roundtable, I have spent less time this year organizing activities than per usual. I’m not as motivated to organize online activities as I am in-person activities so I prefer to defer to others for this. So instead of worrying about everyday aspects of time and space, I worry about the consequences of my daughter virtual learning for a year, when I will see my parents and sister next, or when I will be able to travel again, or see friends indoors.
Time feels suspended. There are decisions to make about the future that cannot be made until we know when we can move freely again. I was supposed to be in another country this semester, but had to decline the fellowship due to COVID-19. I reapplied to go in fall, but even if I get it, it’s not clear that I will be able to travel safely, much less do the kind of research and teaching that I proposed to do in my application. Family, friends, and colleagues ask me about it constantly. People need to make plans and they are waiting on me, on the status of this application, to make them. In this sense, time is not flexible. Classes need to be scheduled. Vacation plans need to be made. Childcare must be addressed. I understand why so many people are inquiring, but I’m also dreading the series of decisions that I will have to make once I know. Last year, I received my letter on April 16. That means I should hear about this year’s decision within the week. Soon after, I will need to make tough decisions that will impact not only me but my family and colleagues. It’s possible, perhaps likely, that Ball State will not allow me to go anyway. I don’t know how much agency I have here but I can’t make any decisions until I have that letter.
I finally got my second COVID-19 vaccine shot this week. I feel relieved but my life has not changed much as a result. I didn’t sleep well that night, had anxiety dreams, a mild headache, chills, and a very sore arm, but otherwise I’m just tired. Today, especially, I experienced time in the present, staring out the window at the brilliant cardinals and sweet little nuthatches. The temperature on this early spring day reached 80 degrees, and I giddily met up with three female friends on a farmhouse patio. We drank wine, shared food, watched the cats and chickens move across the yard, and talked about our mutual interests in feminism, human rights, politics, and parenting. It made me grateful for the present moment, to have survived, and even found new friends.