San Francisco Will Reopen. However I’ve Vastly Modified
“It’s okay to let go and grow; to set free and to forgive; redefine and develop ‘
Photo: Justin Sullivan / Getty Images
Quite unraveling a bit inward occurs when you’re limited to 163 square feet.
In front of my black velvet couch – a valued commodity of my millennial variety – rreads an affirmation spread out on a letter board: Live with less. To the left is a short pile of books; the literature on display covers topics from embracing vulnerability to familiarizing yourself with Dutch oven confits. The cage for one of my “pandemic pythons” sits on the left wall, the light bulb shines red through the opaque plastic. Most of the time, I spend most of my time in my blissful, tiny domicile, writing on a coffee table, sitting on a meditation cushion. A commissioned work hangs like a puzzle on a 90-degree corner; its almost winking congruence now exists as a metaphor for where my life is.
My life seems invitingly easier at the moment. But these weight savings didn’t come without a fight or an argument.
I moved into this apartment almost three months ago after taking full advantage of the local rental market, which collapsed like a peregrine falcon in free flight. (It’s the first lease under my fair name in seven years since I moved from Austin, Texas – and a milestone I never imagined I’d reach in the Bay Area, let alone San Francisco.) Since then I have kept more diaries, more reflections, more catalogs myself than ever in my adult life.
What I’ve realized through all of these self-assessments is profound, if not surprising: I don’t want my self back before the pandemic.
Or perhaps more precisely: I want to fully inhabit the person I have grown into in the midst of the pandemic.
Much like most, I would say that the first weeks – months, really – of the pandemic were organized in a veil of survival. The few serotonin reserves I had were immediately pushed aside to make room for sources of cortisol.
I completely jumped into my job (with little else to do). In June I experienced (as expected) my first case of crippling pandemic burnout. In the weeks of recovery, I discovered a newfound clarity to my calling that was shaped by a series of revelations that would likely have remained unchanged had it not been in place.
My body has changed too. I gained weight, then lost it. Then I won it again. I am losing it again. And it gave me a certain pleasure to cast all the sizes I’ve had in the past fourteen months. As someone who has struggled with body dysmorphism and various eating habits my entire life, Covid-19 has helped me celebrate and appreciate a healthy body that is not defined by shape – no matter how it fits into a pair of Levi jeans .
Once ubiquitous pressures have become trivial, pale in the face of a global pandemic; Dreams have been given up for new endeavors that better reflect me.
For most of my adult life, I have used the excuse of business as an excuse to withdraw from social obligations. Accepting my often severe introverted tendencies was a decades-long tug-of-war with the outside world. I would use the word “no” without hesitation, but my explanations have often been awkward – even slick – for those I value most.
Reading texts No, I don’t, I don’t really have the time, otherwise I would evoke convivial invitations from loved ones to take part in an activity that they enjoy, time that would be spent without a clear purpose; I think these are called “hobbies”. But the subtleties of my performance made a different feeling: I would rather work than participate in something that expresses all of your humanity.
I better explain now what situation I am in … or whisper to myself that I am vulnerable, fumble while trying to be good at sports that involve balls – and make a commitment to participate in every activity.
My life seems invitingly easier at the moment. But these weight savings didn’t come without a fight or an argument.
Friendships that I once seriously believed would stay with me for life – platonic relationships that were put into perspective when the world as we knew it went unrecognizable – have since collapsed. Erected facades are usually the first thing that dissolves in a crisis. People’s honest intentions and morals show up clearly when our social life experiences a seismic shift.
Unfortunately, at least in my case, it shook off some of its own weight from my contact list. Rooms that were once mistaken for these controversial friendships gave way to the relatives – the Ride-or-Dies, the Day-One OGs, the Gayle Kings for my Oprah Winfrey, the Trixie Mattels for my Katya Zamolodchikova – they open my life.
Mountains of material goods have migrated from storage bins to donation boxes; omnipresent pressures are subdued in the face of a global pandemic; Dreams have been given up for new endeavors that better reflect my present self; the gritted disdain I held for a previous ex has turned into forgiveness – both for myself and for himself; I have found peace in places of my mind that were marked by unsolved chaos before the pandemic.
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It’s okay to let go and grow; to set free and to forgive; to redefine and develop.
Somehow I’ve fallen into a more authentic version of myself since the world was turned upside down. And now that it’s turned right side up, I intend to keep my feet firmly on the up to keep those adjustments intact.
