I should be on a silent meditation retreat right now, and yet here we are...
I should be on Day 4 of a Ten Day Vipassana Retreat in the desert. Instead I’m on Day 25 of Self-Isolation. Breath in… and breath… oh god, oh god… choking… oh god…
I’m trying to map my level of alarm onto my 2020 calendar.
When exactly did I start taking the virus seriously as it pertains to my day to day? And when— perhaps we are all asking ourselves this— should I have taken it seriously?
On a scale from 1 to 10. 1 being mostly consumed with day to day bullshit, making sure I’m up to date on my stupid podcasts, the primary election, washing my hands— “meh— when I get around to it.” And 10 being where the majority of your day is driven or challenged by the virus. Level 10 also includes perks such as navigating anxiety attacks, terrible sleep patterns, Lady M level hand washing, and panic-binge-reading commentary on the Imperial College report, running the long distance social distance marathon. I’ve been at a 10 for a little over three weeks.
I pin point 3/11 as the day the shit really hit the fan— at least in my corner of the world. I remember it well because it was the night of my theatre company’s Gala at the Formosa Cafe. We’d been planning it for almost a year and we had a very exciting cabaret night in store for donors and friends. We rolled out the piano and imported the Marie’s Crisis/Don’t Tell Mama’s vibe directly from the West Village into West Hollywood.
When I arrived that night I was already trembling at a level 6.8 slash 7. We got there early to set up and learn the sign-in system and the app to buy raffle tickets and go over the agenda for the evening. Everyone had different thoughts on how serious we should take the virus. Some weren’t worried at all, others were already practicing elbow bumping in place of hugs, some folks straight up declined to show. But before orientation was over our phones vibrated with the news that Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson were infected by COVID-19. And then just a few minutes after that we learned that the NBA cancelled its season, which was awkward because one of our hot ticket auction items was season tickets to the Clippers. As our first patrons arrived Trump was giving his first flame-out address to the nation about the pandemic.
I washed my hands and put on a pair of surgical gloves for the rest of the night. It was a fun night. We sang Broadway songs over a piano. The open bar kept everyone properly sauced and dancing. A photo booth shined in the corner, documenting what would end up feeling like the last night of the world.
The next morning I would take out the N95 mask I bought a year ago in Thailand. I would search for the mini-bottles of hand sanitizer my sister puts in my Christmas stocking each year as a joke. I’m unbelievably impressed that I didn’t throw them out. (Thank you, Courtney).
That was when level 10 began. That was when I started counting Clorox wipes, not sheep, to find sleep. That was Day 1.
I rewind the tape from there…
The latter part of the prior week I was at a level 6. I normally go to yoga 3-4 times a week, but in the lead-up week to the shit hitting the fan I only went once because I was concerned that yogis might be shedding virus all over the locker rooms and studio. The one time I did go I brought hand sanitizer and tried not to touch my face during class (which is really hard for me because it’s hot yoga and I sweat like a fountain). That night I went to CVS and saw a whole row of Clorox Wipes for sale. I thought, hmm, yeah, I should think about getting more of those.
Dear reader, I did not get more of those.
I was also scheduled to do a reading of my new play at SF Playhouse in the mid-March. I wrote to them asking if they were concerned over the virus and they assured me that things were going ahead as planned. I also wrote the Vipassana Center in Joshua Tree to ask about precautions against the virus. They wrote that they were planning ahead, and sick participants would be asked to leave.
That was the second half of the first week of March. I continue the rewind…
Super Tuesday (3/3) stands out in my memory when my alarm hovered around a cool Level 5. I had the opportunity to vote by mail but I opted to vote in person even though I was starting to worry about group gatherings. I prefer the experience of voting in person, I like thinking that my vote instantly counts. But I figured I’d be in and out. I’ve been voting in my neighborhood for almost a decade and Super Tuesday was the first time I had to wait in line for more than three minutes.
I waited an hour forty-five.
And the guy in front of me in line was coughing every ten minutes or so. I was wary. I knew the virus was on our shores. I tried to keep my distance. I voted on the touch screen, which I felt nervous about. I sanitized my hands right after voting. I turned down an invite to a Super Tuesday watch party.
The weekend before Super Tuesday I registered at about a Level 4. I considered attending the Public Enemy concert downtown at the Bernie Sanders rally. But I decided that a group that large would be a bad idea. But I did attend a small rally where Marianne Williamson spoke on Monday night. For several reasons which I won’t go into right now, I wish I’d done something else that night. I was washing my hands every chance I could already.
Rewinding further…
In the last week of February I had a good, if peripheral, understanding of the toll the virus was taking in the world but I did little to alter my own behavior. As far as I knew it wasn’t in California just yet. More pressing concerns were if Elizabeth Warren would knock Mike Bloomberg on his ass a second time, or if Biden would win South Carolina, and by how much. On February 21st, I went and saw Maria Dizzia’s brilliant turn in What The Constitution Means To Me at the Mark Taper. I even rode the Red Line Subway downtown to see it. Not a single thought to hand sanitizer.
It’s safe to conclude that when I took that subway ride, I was at a level 1.
But when should I have taken it seriously? Instead of Day 25 of self-isolation should I be on Day 50? Which conditions would be necessary for my imagination to sell the immediate adoption of significant daily life changes upstairs to my prefrontal cortex? It appears that the absolutely bonkers death toll in China and Italy were not enough which… um… concerns me about me.
Failure Of Imagination is possibly responsible here. And by that I do mean the collective imagination. I have a lot more to write on the subject, particularly as it concerns Global Warming, but here’s a primer: if we were at all late to act on instituting significant lifestyle changes that carried serious economic downsides not to mention downright pain-in-the ass lack of accustomed conveniences when the wave of death was already rearing its head… then we do not stand a chance against global warming. Full stop. For COVID-19, we should’ve been thinking 2 weeks or a month ahead. We lacked collective imagination to do so. For Global Warming, we need to be thinking a decade ahead. For Global Warming, we are riding the subway on February 21st thinking, yeah, it’s happening, but it’s not here, it’s not worth shutting down the theatre over. Actually, February 21st is probably too charitable. We’re closer to the beginning of March.
What do we do when the time to act is behind us? We hang on. And hope to ride it out. And hope to learn.
But one of the things I cannot do right now is devote substantial energy to following the news. It’s all bad. It’s all bad all the time. And the news pours into every screen every moment of the day. I think about how lucky previous generations were to get their news twice a day— once in the morning, once in the evening. How much healthier it might’ve been.
And health is on the forefront of my mind.
So. While I’m not exactly experiencing higher states of consciousness (most days I’m lucky if I can keep a string of four thoughts together at once) I am trying to do some things to keep me sane.
In lieu of a Vipassana retreat, here are some of the things I’m doing outside of writing and teaching.
What I’m Reading: A Sport And A Pastime by James Salter. This book might be a little too sexy for those currently stranded without a partner. The Guardian praised it as a book where the “sex is as good as the prose.” And yes, you’ll want to spend a lot of time with both.
What I’m listening to: Lo-Fi Hip Hop. Spotify Playlist. This has been an excellent new addition to my writing music. I accidentally clicked on it when it showed up in my IG ads and I kinda just went with it. I’m glad I did.
Podcast Episode: Making Sense. #194 The New Future Of Work. Fascinating conversation with Matt Mullenweg, founder of WordPress, about remote work (as he calls it “Distributed Work”). As those of us who are still lucky enough to have work we are all scrambling to make remote work work, Mullenweg has been running his companies on a fairly exclusive Remote Work Only for years. He walks you through the 5 levels, and sells the significant upsides of a more autonomous workforce.
Game I’m playing: Inside — excellent horror puzzler. If you haven’t tried the og LIMBO yet, start there. The ending is just WEIRD.
What I’m Watching: One Man, Two Guvnors. If you missed this hilarious play on the big stages, the National Theatre has put out its full production for streaming on YouTube. An excellent laugh.
Hang in there lovelies.