In 2020 and 2021 I wrote a series of reflections on the pandemic and related experiences for my TinyLetter. Unfortunately, since TinyLetter’s demise those words haven’t had a home on the internet, so I’ve decided to republish them here. For me, they’re an important record of that time as it happened, especially as I try to write and edit my way into an uncertain future. It is important to remember these things, in a world that wants us to forget. Below is volume 1 of 2, from March through July 2020.

March 15, 2020
Greetings from the last day of my mini vacation, which did not go as planned!

I never intended to travel when I decided to take Thursday and Friday off. I merely hoped to stave off pending burnout, and planned to go see a few movies, take myself out to lunch, maybe go to a yoga class in an actual studio for the first time in ages. Alas. Instead I stocked up on groceries, filled my inhaler prescription, and encouraged my parents to take the threat of Covid-19 seriously. I did squeeze in a nice hike at Occoneechee State Natural Area with my significant other, and what will no doubt be my last visit to a bar in a while, a short jaunt to Fullsteam, where they had removed some seating to allow for adequate social distancing and were limiting the number of patrons to 100 at a time. I appreciated the effort, and from here on out I think it’s best to support local businesses by buying merch and gift cards online. I’ve been wanting a new t-shirt anyway. (I also hear curbside beer pickup may be coming, which I won’t make use of because I live alone and alcohol is a depressant that won’t mix well with social distancing for me personally, but some of you might like it! I’ll be hiding out with five cases of Bubly water and several pints of Pincho Loco ice cream).

I’ve lived alone for a long time, and since August I’ve been working from home full time. My job will, I think, continue somewhat normally for the foreseeable future. As others transition to working from home for the first time, and try to figure out how to function without leaving the house, I’ve noticed how many habits I take for granted that might be useful to others in the coming weeks. To that end, I’ll try to send some Tiny Letter dispatches with tips on How to Be Alone.

Tip #1: Fill your home with books.
Whether you shop your local indie (The Regulator in Durham has online ordering and will ship to your home) or frequent the local library, filling your home with entertaining stories is one of the best ways to be alone. While social distancing, the Libby App will be invaluable. Download the app to your smartphone or tablet, sign up with your library card to connect to your local library, and start checking out ebooks and audiobooks. Speaking of libraries, many now allow you to check out streaming video services as well. I’ve been slowly making my way through 20 seasons of Midsomer Murders via Acorn, a streaming service I can check out for seven days at a time via the Durham County Library. Your library likely has something similar.

Tip #2: Yoga With Adriene: https://yogawithadriene.com/
I first started following Adriene’s channel on YouTube when I was new to yoga and too uncomfortable with my body to go to an actual studio. I continue to rely on her free videos now because I can’t go to studio classes as often as I’d like, and regular yoga has become vital for me since I found out I have osteoarthritis. Adriene is a gentle guide with an encouraging spirit, and even (especially!) if you’re a total newbie to yoga, now is a great time to take 30 minutes to stretch and move in your own home. If you follow her monthly calendars you get the added bonus of knowing other people around the world (including me) are doing the same practice each day, and that sense of connection is helpful right now.

Tip #3: Don’t go to brunch, make brunch at home.
Here’s one of my favorite brunch dishes to make, which uses staples you’re likely to have on hand even when we’re not trying to slow a global pandemic, Nigella Lawson’s rendition of Eggs in Purgatory: https://www.nigella.com/recipes/eggs-in-purgatory (it’s the dish she made for a hungover Anthony Bourdain on the London episode of Parts Unknown).

Call your parents. Text your bff. Start a group chat with your siblings. Have a solo dance party in your kitchen. Do a crossword puzzle. Be kind to one another and to yourself. More to come.
Meghan

March 18, 2020
I have cried quite a few times this week. In some cases, I knew what triggered it, in other cases, it was a both general and overwhelming sense of helplessness and dread. Overall, I am fine. Physically and mentally, I am doing okay. It’s going to require ongoing work to stay that way, I think.

I was reflecting on Twitter this week that while I’m used to spending time alone, and genuinely enjoy spending time alone, not knowing when I will next be able to be in the same room with another human is an entirely new experience. Existentially, this is so different from “I like my alone time.” There are funny memes circulating about how introverts were made for this moment, but while they were good for a chuckle at first, the message rings hollow. This is a global pandemic, not a spa weekend. I am not enjoying this.

I hesitate to write this because I don’t want people to worry about me. As I said, I actually feel pretty in touch with what is hard for me right now, and how to cope with it as best I can. It’s clear to me that this is a situation to think about more in terms of surviving than thriving. I set very small goals at work today. I don’t plan on reading a ton of classic novels or writing one in the coming weeks. I’ll get up at the same time every day, I’ll work, I’ll eat three meals, I’ll get some physical activity and touch base with some loved ones. I’ll find some sources of joy and entertainment where I can.

I say all of this because I know I am not the only one feeling this existential weight, and it gets heavier if you expect yourself to bear it alone. You are allowed to struggle. I do not care that Shakespeare wrote King Lear while in quarantine. We are not Shakespeare. We do not have to be geniuses or legends right now. We don’t have to create beauty out of trauma that is still unfolding. We just have to take care of ourselves and each other right now.

This brings me to…

Tip #4: Blanket Forts
I started sending these letters again on the premise of sharing tips for “How to be Alone,” but social distancing isn’t just about that. I shared a bedroom until I was 18 (which is probably not unrelated to my appreciation of aloneness now), which is to say, I’m familiar with another thing you might be experiencing these days, if you are cooped up in a full house: the NEED to be alone(ish).

The house my four siblings and I grew up in had a ridiculous number of closets. When I was small, I cleaned out the back of mine, which had a shelf the perfect height for a small child to use as a desk, and I made myself an “office.”

Yes, I hid in the closet. Or, when I was too old for hiding in the closet, I would simply go to the bathroom and lock the door and stay in there until I felt ready to be around people again (or until someone pounded on the door and insisted they needed to come in, whichever came first). When my sister and I had bunk beds, we’d alternate monthly between top and bottom bunks. On top, I had a sense of distance and solitude even if I wasn’t totally alone. On the bottom bunk, I could hang blankets from the top bunk and create a fort for myself, a little cave to read in, all snuggled up with all my soft toys.

What I am saying is do not hesitate to make yourself a blanket fort. I don’t care how old you are, sometimes it’s necessary. Maybe it’s the literal coziness of blankets you need, maybe it’s the more straightforward locking yourself in the bathroom away from your kids for 15 minutes of peace. For me, yesterday it was 20 minutes in a lawn chair after work, in my tiny, weedy backyard, the sun caressing my face, a small urban oasis.

Find a little corner, make a little space. Offer yourself a big heaping helping of grace today.

March 23, 2020
I started this letter on Thursday, and here is how I began:

“Oh, friends. I am tired. It has been a busy week at work, though my inbox is starting to slow down, a trend which I assume will continue. For the moment the world of book publishing, on the editorial end, continues apace. There will be long term impacts, but our 2020 books are all in various stages of editing and design, so I am trying to keep things moving for the authors’s sake as much as for that of the long term stability of my job.”

Life comes at you fast. This morning I found out my job is being cut, effective today, by 20%, so after less than 8 months as a FT salaried employee I am once again back to the hourly, underemployed life. I wonder whether these past 8 months might end up being the only 8 months of my entire life that I have one full-time job. I don’t know. This is supposed to be temporary, until June 30, but who can say what the economy will look like three months from now?

Still, 32 hours is not zero hours. I am better off than many, many people are right now, I know. And I am used to this, to reworking my budget, to hustling, to living in flux. I was just so overwhelmingly grateful that I didn’t have to quite so much anymore.

The rest of the letter I started on Thursday was a collection of cooking suggestions, which I might still share, but not today. I can’t quite wrap my mind around why anyone would want to read my cooking tips just now. I am not a great cook, though I am great at cooking with affordable basics, if that makes sense. I’ve been especially grateful these past ten days for everything I’ve picked up over the years, not just about cooking but about grocery shopping, about how to effectively stock my pantry. Your mileage may vary when it comes to anyone else’s pantry advice, of course, because one of the most important things you can learn is what ingredients are most essential for you, for the meals you like to cook, the meals you like to eat. Get your hands on Judith Jones’s brilliant The Pleasures of Cooking for One, even if you’re cooking for two or more. It’s such a wonderful handbook of basic skills upon which to improvise.

That’s probably as close as I get to a single philosophy in life: improvisation. I’ll figure this out, though I don’t yet know how.

July 26, 2020
Hello, friends,

Yes, I’m still here. Are you still here? Good, I’m glad. There’s something soothing about checking in on one’s existence, even if there’s little else to say. I’ve given up on a right answer to “How are you?” I’m here. That’s about what I can say, consistently, though there are better and worse days.

In any case, I’m writing because I negelected to send a letter to alert you back in May that I published a new essay on Killing the Buddha. So many editors and writers I respect and admire have been involved in KtB over the years that it’s always been a place I wanted to be published, even if most people outside a certain niche have likely never heard of it. In any case, I finally got up the gumption to submit something (pandemic gave me a bit of “what have you got to lose” energy back in April), and it was accepted. You can read it here: https://killingthebuddha.com/mag/in-the-garden/

I’d worried that by the time we got through edits and the piece when live it might not be timely; I don’t think it occurred to me that it might still feel pretty relevant in July. My garden is looking a lot different than it was in May when I harvested the last of my spring radishes and transplanted the seedings I’d nurtured indoors as I waited for the temperatures to warm. Now it’s oppressively hot, the part of the summer that is only made bearable by heirloom tomatoes and fresh basil. The future feels less certain than ever. I am trying to embrace small moments of hope. I am doing crossword puzzles, reading mystery and romance novels, doing yoga, trying to make a perfect pizza. I am trying to ward off despair, and these things help. I am working harder than I did pre-pandemic, which is a bit of a problem, and I think the topic of work in the time of corona deserves its own tiny letter, though I make no promises to write one. If I only write one essay during the pandemic that’s certainly enough.

Until next time,
M