Four years ago today, I received a memo from my company's HR department outlining the new Coronavirus Response Plan and the instructions to begin working remotely. I remember that day with startling clarity. It was a Thursday and earlier that morning, I had coffee with a college student who was interested in learning more about jobs in publishing. He extended his hand for a handshake and I leaned back saying, “Oh, sorry. Can’t be too careful with the coronavirus and all that.” But we sat across from each other at Starbucks and drank our coffees and chatted for at least 30 minutes before I went back up to my downtown office building to finish my work day.
That afternoon, when the memo went around via email, I remember putting everything I thought I might need for a couple of weeks into my backpack, leaving behind papers piled on my desk and photos of my kids pinned to my cube wall. I wouldn’t come back to retrieve those things and other office supplies until June 2020. I came back to a boarded-up downtown Minneapolis, barely anyone in sight except a glimpse of a Humvee rolling down Marquette Avenue in the wake of the Minneapolis Uprising after the murder of George Floyd. I rolled my desk chair, an extra monitor, and some other office supplies out of our office building and into my minivan and didn’t come back to working regularly in an office until October 2023.
The winter of 2020, my boys turned one and three. The baby learned to walk while we were under a Stay Home Order in Minnesota in April. The kids watched Blippi and a virtual preschool teacher on one laptop in the living room while I tried to work on my computer in the kitchen. They washed dinosaurs in the kitchen sink while I was in virtual meetings. We went for long walks in the woods in the afternoons, bypassing the playground to avoid people and germs. We didn’t go to church. The kids never came to the grocery store with us. We met with family and friends outside and celebrated Easter on Zoom.
Every afternoon I tuned into the Public Health update from our governor and the State Health Commissioner on the radio. I watched videos of people banging on pots and pans to encourage healthcare workers. I saw pictures of morgue trucks parked outside of hospitals. I read stories of people whose loved ones died alone on ventilators. And I cut out paper hearts from construction paper and taped them to the inside of my windows in an act of solidarity and encouragement for everyone else staying home too.
It would be an understatement to say that the pandemic changed me. It changed us all. Corporately, as a society, and as individuals, but not all in the same way. And not all for the better.
When I look back on 2020, my body tenses up and I remember how anxious I was. How much I tried to do the right thing. How scared I was that someone I loved might die. How angry I was that our leaders in Washington were failing us. I remember how disorienting it was to talk to people whose life wasn’t changed, who weren’t trying to avoid getting sick, who thought I was overreacting.
I went down a Facebook memories rabbit hole today, looking at my posts from spring 2020. On April 13, I shared this, alongside pictures of my baby sitting on my lap while I worked and my toddler finger-painting at the dining room table.
Today marks the beginning of the 5th week of working from home. It'll be the 4th week with the kids home. So many mixed emotions about this. Every day is a mix of frustration, boredom, joy, exhaustion, anxiety, wonder, and perpetually feeling like I'm forgetting something.
Today the kids were a big handful in the morning. And then they didn't nap long enough and they interrupted an important phone call. But then they were really sweet and played so well together. I didn't get everything done on my to do list, but I was more productive than some days. I didn't listen to the news much so I felt less anxious about that, but the snowy weather really got me down. Truly a mixed bag.
The hardest part of this situation is not knowing how long it's going to go last. A few more weeks? Or months? And then what will it be like to go back to "normal?" And what's going to happen in the meantime?
Were there benefits to a forced “slow down" as a result of the pandemic? Absolutely. I now work from home 3 days a week indefinitely. I’ve gained a new appreciation for slower rhythms of life and setting boundaries to protect my time. I’ve rediscovered my creativity. Without a commute, I have more time with my kids. And my husband and I recalibrated our roles for a more equitable share of the household load.
But the cost? How can we say that was worth it? I still grieve for all the people around the world who died or became permanently disabled because of Covid. I’m sad my kids didn’t have normal interactions with family members and friends when they were so small. I’m sad for the students who had to do school from home and the teachers who were put in impossible situations and the parents who had to manage both virtual school and virtual work. I still can’t quite comprehend what doctors and nurses went through. And the fissures in our society and families that broke open through conflict over the pandemic response are still causing friction today.
Life feels mostly normal now, but I haven’t forgotten what life was like in spring 2020. Covid is still here, but what we experienced back at the beginning feels like a totally different era. I hope never to experience that again.
In November 2020, I made my first ever embroidery project. One good thing about life during the pandemic is I turned to art and crafty things like this to keep my hands from doom-scrolling, to calm my mind, to try to make something beautiful. I shared it on Twitter and some random person commented: “It's pretty ugly. But also kind of pretty.”
Um, thanks? But you know, I think that captures my feelings about 2020. Pretty ugly. But also, there was beauty and goodness mixed in too. It’s all there, a complicated jumble of memories, all knotted up together.
Take care,
—NK
Naomi, I love this. I've been thinking about this time of year as the anniversary, but haven't made time to really reflect on it. Your post helped mark this month for me. I want some COVID remembrance in my life--for sake of the losses, and for sake of what we gained (and hopefully don't let those gains slip away again). Thank you, thank you, thank you.