Shelter In Place
March 24, 2020 § 28 Comments
Last week I surrendered to the it-burns-it-burns-but-I-cannot-look-away impulse that marks the moment we’re in. That meant, among other things:
- Sleeping with my phone by the bed.
- Checking the phone first thing in the morning for virus news.
- Checking email right afterward (on the phone) to manage a volley of messages about how cancellations and closings would affect upcoming retreats.
- Texting my septuagenarian parents to make sure they had everything they needed and were staying in the house.
- Trying to remember what I needed to do besides email and pouncing on whatever task appeared first in my frazzled mind.
- Cursing floridly every time I remembered something else I needed to do.
- Returning to #2, #3, and #4 for distraction whenever I hit a snag with #5.
- Showering, dressing, cooking, eating, cleaning, shopping, and driving while listening to NPR.
- Collapsing in bed to binge watch mediocre TV.
- Nodding off late, which led back to #1.
In short, exactly the opposite of what I teach, what I typically do, what I find most comforting.
Of course, my response was partly due to the extraordinary circumstances created by the Coronavirus. But I’m also navigating these circumstances outside of my usual place. I’ve been living out of a suitcase for more than 2 weeks: First, to facilitate a writing retreat; then to visit my parents; and then—unexpectedly—to hunker down in my brother’s nearby home, so I could help my parents without exposing them to anything I may have picked up while traveling.
Many of you have lost your usual place as well. Campus is empty and class is online. Those of you still exercising have to brave the cold. The café you love to write in is shuttered. The space you’re in now is sloppy with distraction. Your home office is strewn with tax forms; the front page of The New York Times has become your browser’s homepage.
Your children are with you All. Damn. Day.
The problem we’re facing is bigger than our individual will. When we’re not in our usual place, it’s harder to maintain our normal routines—writing or otherwise. Context contains cues that, over time, train us to associate a particular behavior with a particular place. Think about how we feel and behave in a 10-person seminar room vs. a 250-person lecture hall with stadium seating. Without our usual contextual guidance, the habits we rely on to stay focused and steady are more likely to fall apart.
We need social distancing to stay safe. Unfortunately, what we need to stay safe can make it hard to stay serene.
If you find yourself flailing, the first thing you need to do is find some emotional ballast. Ballast is not an anchor that keeps us tied to one place. Instead, ballast is weight—strategically placed to keep us balanced as we move forward. Think sandbags tied to hot air balloons. Right now, we’re shooting into the atmosphere with no sense of control. Emotional ballast will slow you down. Even you out. Give you the mental space you need to determine the best next step.
Everyone’s emotional ballast is different, so the trick is to make sure you’re using yours and not someone else’s. An easy way to do that is to create your version of the list above. Write down the first 5 things you did this morning after opening your eyes. If your mornings are fine, but your afternoons get off track, write down the first five things you do after lunch. Your aim is to specify what you do when you go whizzing off into panic, distraction, or inertia.
Now, go back to the first item on your list, and right next to it, write what you’d normally do in pre-pandemic times. Or, if writing from home has amplified behaviors you knew were a problem, write down what would feel better.
This first item on your list is your ballast. One simple thing you can do to find some stability and keep yourself from careening wildly through the day. Bird watching. Baking. Child’s pose. Sex. It doesn’t have to be serious or sacred. It just has to be what works for you.
My ballast is to sleep without my phone; then brush my teeth immediately upon getting out of bed. Removing the phone eliminates my ability to check in with the world. Brushing my teeth makes me check in with myself. When I’m amped up and desperate to Get Stuff Done, forcing myself to brush my teeth brings me back to my body. It’s the enactment of what I know to be true, but have a hard time accepting—I must first attend to myself if I want to be any good to anyone else.
If you’re totally overwhelmed, just use your ballast. If you’re up for it, use the rest of the list as a set of instructions. Do as many items as you can without getting overwhelmed. Keep your list with you and consult as needed.
Maybe you’ll write. Maybe you won’t. What’s most important is finding pockets of calm from which to rebuild your routines in your new environment. This is what it really means to Shelter in Place. To find safety where we already are, instead of searching for it outside ourselves.
Michelle Boyd is the founder of InkWell Academic Writing Retreats, where she teaches scholars how to look forward to writing instead of dreading it.