Surviving not thriving

A few years ago, I went scuba diving for the first time. I’ll never forget the distinct feeling I had after passing the first basic tests and being allowed to swim around on my own under the water. Kicking along, turning my head slowly back and forth while taking in the vast blue expanse, I was in complete awe of my surroundings. I had never experienced anything like it before. I couldn’t believe how colorful everything was, how many fish there were, and how completely alien the world felt from that vantage point. I was amazed by the intensity and uniqueness of the experience.

And then, after about five minutes: panic. Sheer, utter terror. My body suddenly remembered that I was not, in fact, supposed to be underwater. It was as if it was saying “you have lungs, not gills, idiot, and if you don’t get out of here quickly, you will die.” This feeling only lasted a few seconds, but it came back multiple times throughout the course of the dive — and the next time I went diving, it happened again.

Any diving instructor will tell you you have two options if that panic sets in: you can breathe through it and self-regulate, or you can shoot up to the surface and risk seriously injuring yourself. The second option isn’t really an option, so you must choose the first. It’s an odd thing, to be underwater and suddenly feel like you might die any moment, to not be able to communicate with anyone except for rudimentary hand signals, and to have to then talk yourself down so you can stay safe and settle back into the experience. 

I’ve been thinking about scuba diving a lot lately because it reminds me of where we are right now — except instead of being underwater, we are trying to get through days upon days of self-isolation during a pandemic. Every time I think I’m settling into this new way of living, my body reminds me that I’m not where I’m supposed to be. Like diving, this is an intense experience that requires all of our mental faculties. We are not supposed to be here. We can adapt, but it’s not easy.

The thing about being in these intense situations is that it is incredibly difficult to do other things while we’re in them. All of our attention and energy is being used to just get through the situation. And yet, in this pandemic-induced stay-at-home order, we’re expecting ourselves to do a lot more than just get through it. Now that the majority of the US has been ordered to stay home, the articles and posts telling us how best to spend this time are everywhere. Learn a new language! Get really in-shape! Read lots of books! Run a home school! Take up a new hobby! Foster a dog! Sharpen your cooking skills! Start a daily meditation practice! Finally clean out that one closet!

After a few days of seeing these suggestions all over the internet, I became quickly exhausted by the prospect of maximizing my time at home — time I’m spending to protect myself and my community from getting a deadly virus. I then came across this tweet from writer Haley Nahman that captured my feelings perfectly:

You don’t have to “make the most” of a global pandemic.

A stay-at-home order during a global pandemic is not summer camp, or a snow day, or a wellness retreat. It’s an incredibly challenging life constraint designed to help us and everyone around us stay safe. This is a monstrous event that no one alive has ever experienced before. It is hard and scary and sad and weird and messy.

Best-case scenario, you are trying to figure out how to be productive while working your salaried job with benefits from home. However, just like in the rest of life, few of us get the best-case scenario. Some of us are caring for children or other family members. Some of us lost part or all of our income and are trying to figure out how to pay our bills. Some of us know people who are sick or have died from this virus. Some of us are sick with the virus ourselves. Some of us are pregnant and terrified. Some of us are just anxious, sad, and scared about the state of the world right now. Absolutely none of these scenarios are conducive to productivity, self-improvement, or focus.

When we obsess over self-optimization, it’s largely because we’re operating from a place of deficiency. We are never enough, and we’re never doing enough. It’s tempting, then, to maximize this time at home to try and finally feel whole. The challenge with this is that we may actually have less time, energy, or attention to give to these pursuits than we typically would. Caring for others, being worried about our health, stressing about money — these all take up mental and emotional space. Part or all of the energy we previously had for work, hobbies, or learning is now being used up, but we’re still expecting ourselves to operate at 100 percent.

I’ve been reminding myself of this lately, as much as I can. I think about scuba diving and ask myself: how much can I really do when I’m underwater? Truthfully, not much. I can swim but not walk or run. I can do hand signals but not talk. I can adjust my diving equipment but not use a computer. So how much can I really do during a pandemic? I can read short articles but maybe not a whole book. I can work in short bursts but not for an entire day. I can write this newsletter, but it’s going to take longer than it typically would and it might not be as good as I want it to be. And that’s all fine.

This is a great time to lower our expectations of ourselves, to give ourselves grace, and to remember that we’re doing what we need to do to get through the day. The goal of living through a pandemic is merely that — to live. We don’t have to make the most of every day. We just have to take care of ourselves and of others, and most importantly, we have to survive.