While I write this, I realize that I am doing so from a position of extreme privilege. Yet I feel the urge to write down some of what’s going through my head, both to help me process my own experience through this period of COVID-19, but potentially so it will be helpful for others who may also be going through a similar situation.
I was in a very, very good position compared to other people who I was spending my isolation with on the island of Koh Yao Noi in Thailand. While many struggled to find a path home to Europe or the US, and some had relatives dying where they couldn’t return, my flights were open to me and it only required a single long phone call to get my original flights changed – to go through Japan (as intended on the same date), but then diverting to Vancouver instead of heading back into the fire in LA, where I didn’t know if my travel health insurance or allowable time in the States would run out before this “ended”, or trust how things would be managed, for that matter.
And with this ease available to me, I knew that I wanted to fly back to Canada to see my family – my mother, my brother and sister-in-law, and my 1 year old nephew, who are all in Vancouver. So with that decision, I was about to embark on my 48 hour transit home, that consisted of a boat ride, a ride to the airport and 3 flights over 48 hours, plus my anxiety of that whole path in hopes that I wouldn’t get sick or pass anything along in transit, or get stuck somewhere in between. (Was I being selfish? Was I going for the right reasons? Where would I be the most at peace and able to serve?)
I took in every single remaining moment with that much more appreciation – my feet in the sand, the feel of the water on my skin, the smell of the flowers and the air, the breeze across my face, the sound of the creatures in nature outside my bungalow, and the sway of the trees. Again, I gratefully was able to pick my so-called quarantine “prison” for the upcoming 14 days, and did my research and discussions via Airbnb from the Haneda airport during my 15 hour layover, and only 30 minutes before my last long-haul flight, selected what I felt would be the best option for having to be inside 24/7.
While I slept most of that last flight back to YVR, when the sun rose, I stared out the window, and took in every single moment of the descent, absorbing how beautiful the city looked, flying over the mountains, Vancouver Island, the Gulf Islands, Stanley Park, the cityscape itself, and into Richmond.
I was definitely panicking a bit inside, especially in my extreme tiredness, after being served under the Quarantine Act, facing up to $1 million in fines or up to 3 years in prison if I didn’t quarantine myself under law, and then grabbing an Uber (is that even allowed?! I asked myself, and then did, while fully declaring to my driver where I’d just come from), only 9 hours before the government was apparently about to implement even stricter measures for travellers re-entering the country.
And I remember being on a phone call as I was waiting to enter my apartment, and about to leave the ground for the next 14 days. Touching the plants and the dirt (yes, I did that), running my feet along the ground, staring at the few people who were walking around. I felt mentally prepared for it, and knew it was coming long before (4 days is long now, right?).
After a day after day blur of cooking (and the resultant eating), learning how to play the ukelele I found hanging on the wall, working via my digital marketing agency (albeit much less than usual), connecting and supporting people in my communities, singing, dancing, and taking many baths, I now get to face the outside world in a matter of 3 days. My first plans are to walk over to visit my mom who has also been isolated (my family is the reason I am back here and not on that beautiful island still), and then to catch a sunset on the walk back to my apartment.
And it’s been interesting to notice and feel through the thoughts that I have going through my head. Guilt (for others who can’t see their loved ones, especially healthcare workers), shame for even feeling bad for having my own dark thoughts and challenges when I have so much to be thankful for, anxiety to actually go outside and see what has changed, but also seeing people from afar and not knowing what that experience will be like. I am an extremely loving person, who’s very tactile and loves to touch people and things – so what will that be like? Will someone try to walk near me – how will I react? What will it feel like to be on the ground again? What do I need to take with me? Will I be afraid, as I’ve been in the safety of my protective little solo quarantine bubble since my return? What has changed outside? How much of our human experience will be lost through this out of fear? How much are we willing to trade off to risk something else? Am I taking this too seriously? Or not seriously enough?
There are so many questions, and so many uncertainties. And this, for me, a person who thrives in uncertainty and used to adapting as I’ve traveled and lived in so many different places around the world for the last 10 years. I can’t even begin to imagine what this may be like for those living with so much structure and certainty – those not used to so much change on a daily basis.
All I know is that I want to continue to operate from love and not fear. So that’s the way I will continue to live and make my decisions, and try my best to answer all of these evolving questions and new experiences, muddling through as we always do in this messy thing called life.
I am also extremely excited, but doing my best to stay present and not think too far ahead, as who knows what could happen in those 3 days? We’ve seen a lot lately, and I don’t want to be disappointed if for some reason I can’t leave suddenly, and will have to hold on to those beautiful sunrises and sunsets in my mind for a lot longer. And all the other incredible memories of experiences that I’ve been able to live.
One thing I do know is that I am grateful for my choices to have lived a lot of experiences while exploring the world – I still have a lot of living left in me, but know I am truly happy with the decisions that I have made, regardless of what happens from here.
Now it’s your turn…
How are you feeling through the midst of this? What helps you process your experiences? Writing my thoughts down free-form apparently does it for me…
Perhaps you’re more vocal or visual, and speaking out loud, drawing or painting is helpful. Or playing an instrument, or singing and dancing. Or all of the above. There’s no time like the present to be creative and see what both helps you express and process your feelings and inspires you.
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