Shelter in Place: Day 33

I’ve been hunkering down waiting out this global pandemic for more than a month now. A span of time sufficient to recognize the vastness of the difference between what I anticipated I would accomplish during my isolation versus what I have actually accomplish. As it turns out, my big plan to spend more time reading, writing, and pursuing other creative interest didn’t materialize. What did materialize is binge-watching all seven episodes of Tiger King on Netflix.

Originally I imagined sheltering in place could be managed by focusing my energy on those things that I could control: staying home as much as possible; maximizing social distancing; keeping on top of my work; being sensitive to the way I interact with my family; securing essential supplies (i.e., eggs, coffee, whiskey, and toilet paper); figuring out the number of consecutive days it is appropriate to wear the same socks. Those sort of things. As a corollary, I imagined minimizing the energy I would expend on things beyond my control: how long it takes to flatten the curve; ventilator distribution; progress on a Covid-19 vaccine; the state of my 401(k) plan; when schools will reopen; survival of the human species. I’d let those things go.

I also anticipated extra time in my day. Getting ready for work would be simple. No need to shave or put on pants. Roll out of bed, grab a cup of coffee, and fire up the laptop. No commuting in D.C. traffic. No hustling a kid to practices and games. Then add in the time not spent watching college basketball or major league baseball, both cancelled by Covid-19 concerns. I carefully plugged all the variables into my statistical Coronavirus Quarantine Extra Time Model™ (CQET model), which predicted I could expect to reallocate at minimum 10 hours each week to creative endeavors.

So my big quarantine plan was to control what I could, ignore what I couldn’t, and use my extra time on self-improvement. When better than a global pandemic to focus on personal betterment? I would finish the neglected 700-page history of the United States from reconstruction through the gilded age that sits half-read on my nightstand and then speed through the Ta-Nehisi Coates novel, a Christmas gift, that’s next up in the stack. I would write more words for my blog. Not just more words, but beautiful words that would capture a moment in time or an eternal truth. Maybe learn to play guitar.

None of the above came to be. In hindsight, what in the actual hell was I thinking? From the moment we went into shelter-in-place mode, I was acutely aware that both my wife and I would be working full time from our house while our sixth-grader and our college freshman would be engaged in distance learning from that same house. And that we would fight with the sixth-grader (the one who farted on me on Day 5 of shelter-in-place) about unloading the dishwasher and cleaning the cat’s litter box.  And that her psychology major sibling, a Bernie supporter and college newspaper opinion writer, would be sharing a lot of hot takes about society and culture. And that we would be in the midst of staggering unemployment and business closings as the nation remained under attack from an invisible enemy predicted to kills tens of thousands of Americans and infect hundreds of thousands more. 

It turns out this was not the ideal time for me to embark on a journey of self-discovery. Here’s what went wrong:

1.     The “don’t-worry-about-things-I-can’t-control” debacle. I’ve been a compulsive consumer of news most of my life. So the idea that I would suddenly, while living in a moment of epic historical significance, choose not to freak out over current events was incredibly misguided, to be generous. Of course I am going worry about shortages of protective gear for nurses and doctors, lack of hospital beds for suffering patients, people losing their jobs and businesses. Yes I will be consumed by maps and charts showing the awful progress of the virus, watching for curves to flatten. Will I be outraged by news coverage of college kids crowding Florida beaches taking body shots of tequila off each other’s sun-burned stomachs? By the feckless political leaders who declined to stop these gatherings? Yes and hell yes. Reading the news and being outraged is just something I do. I should have recognized from the start that I would not discover my moment of Zen.

 
2.     The “control-the-things-I-can” fantasy. All I have to say about this is that I can’t even stop myself from touching my face. I can’t stay out of the Amazon-delivered bags of Easter candy– and I don’t even enjoy milk chocolate that much. The idea that there are things that I can “control” is an illusion. Social distancing is within my control until a stranger on a nature path who apparently isn’t a good judge of distance attempts to stop me to engage in conversation. And as note above, I can’t make myself stop obsessing about the news. The notion that I possess the degree of self-control necessary to embark on a journey of personal betterment does not comport with that reality. Stay up late with: a) a good book, or b) a glass of whiskey while posting snarky political commentary on Twitter? I think we all know the answer.

3.     The “extra time” fallacy. Statistical models are only as good as the assumptions they rely upon. For example, my CQET model failed to consider that I would not use the extra time for creative endeavors but instead would use it to stay up late drinking whiskey and posting snarky political commentary. So I did not end up with the extra 10 hours per week devoted to creative endeavors that I my CQET model predicted.

The good news is that I now possess the self-awareness to know that I lack the self-control to control things within my control. And that I lack the self-control to ignore things beyond my control. Better news is that our family coziness allows me to watch my kids demonstrate resiliency and compassion under historically challenging circumstances. Also to fight with each other and me and their mom, but mostly resiliency and compassion. I’ve also learned what it’s like to be my spouse’s co-worker. Not coincidentally, I’m working on a new post with lessons learned about becoming co-workers with your spouse. And I’ve made it into the twentieth century on my reading journey from reconstruction through the gilded age. Progress.