People are dying. The world is falling apart. This is the best time of my life.

People are dying. The world is falling apart. This is the best time of my life.


People are dying. The world is falling apart. This is the best time of my life. 

I’ve always found hugging people hello and goodbye to be awkward. I’ve documented many times my inability to predict which handshake or five will be used during greetings. 

I know there are many people having horrible experiences. Suffering in small homes with abusive partners and no idea when food or money will come in. My heart goes out to them. It really does. I’m very lucky that that is not my situation. Yes, my business has been forced to close. Yes, I am falling behind on rent to the tune of $18,000/mo. Yes, I’ve had to lay off my staff and freeze loans as to not have to file bankruptcy. But I am not in danger. I will be able to eat tomorrow. And for that I am beyond thankful. 

I can’t write about what it’s like to be suffering. And I’m honestly quite tired of influencer types pretending to be empaths and talk about other people’s suffering when really they are just trying to mask their own privilege so they can grab more attention for themselves. I am going to write about what I know as that is the only contribution I can make as a writer that is worth anything. 

And what I know is that I have had six of the best weeks of my life. 

Work is for the uninteresting. Jobs are something we created to keep people busy because we aren’t very good at having time on our hands. I have a strong work ethic. I’ve always “put in the hours”. I enjoy focusing on projects and being productive. But I’ve realized how much I truly don’t enjoy doing client work. I am relishing this time off. 

And now that I don’t have to work I can focus on all my hobbies. I’ve been writing, playing guitar, finally getting serious about Spanish, and practicing gratitude every night before going to sleep. There is so much space in my mind to process the slowness of life. My body doesn’t ache from 14 hour set days and my stress levels have never been lower. 

There’s nothing I can do. The world is closed. And for a control freak that is absolute freedom. It seems counterintuitive but the transition was immediate. I don’t have to solve anything. Fix anything. Be responsible for anyone else’s well-being. I thought it would contribute to a lack of purpose but it’s been the opposite. I can 100% focus on how I actually want to spend my days. I can focus on how I want to live my life. 

It’s been six weeks since I’ve had to awkwardly hug someone hello or goodbye. It’s been just as long since I’ve had to pretend like I didn’t see a distant friend on the street corner and change directions before they noticed. I can walk around people and their dogs without having to look or fake a smile or ask them any completely useless questions just to appear as a trained member of society. 

There is no traffic. I drove to Santa Barbara in 3 hours. That is unheard of. Big Sur was quiet. The trails were dusted with fresh growth. The waves crashed onto beaches with no footprints. Avenue of the Giants stretched miles without a single soul. Walking through the forest felt like what walking through the forest felt like before iPad tourists and IG ruined every great remote spot. 

The air is clean. Books are being read. Kettlebells are worth more than gold. 

Even my communicatively-challenged family is coming together and having happy hour FaceTime calls every Friday! My dad has become the most positive member of the whole group telling us all to keep our heads up. We’ve been side-chatting about how fortunate our lives have been. We’ve never done anything but talk about the problems of the world in deep voices and call football players chickenshits on the TV. 

And I’ve got a gal with me. We left New York together before the city burned to the ground. Before we left, we picked a different neighborhood to walk to every night. We often covered 10 miles on foot and saw 3 or 4 people along the way. New York City empty! Little Italy quiet enough to hear birds. Brick roads in Soho without getting trampled. We took our time in a city that doesn’t allow that and saw it in a way that has never existed. 

“Should you just come to California with me?” 

We drive to the ocean now for sunsets. We follow all the rules set forth by the city and do our best not to push our luck as we feel we are running free in an untouched world. There are other people like us. We see them and we nod. I suppose we are the selfish ones. We are possibly The Asymptomatics. Our movements bring judgment and the old ladies on the neighborhood councils close their blinds and scoff as we walk by their oceanfront mansions. Maybe they would feel better if they saw our hand washing regimen?

Eventually this will pass. Things will open again. We will all be “allowed” to go back to work. It might be refreshing for some as this much free time is dangerous. But I will be devastated having finally found a world with just the right amount of people in it. I will drag my feet to sets and think about the new Coldplay song I won’t be learning that day as I capture content for consumer packaged goods brands that need us working so we can then afford to buy their products. 

What is so bad about socialism? 

Perhaps this will push the conversation forward a few years. It is telling to me that the only candidate for the Dem primary who was offering relief from the American Dream that has put us all in debt and on meds was defeated by a man who doesn’t really stand for anything and promises to offer more of the same – more of the same thing that has helped us reach this point of catastrophic loss. And not just lives. Not just the virus. The loss of ourselves. The fact that we can’t function without being told what to do. We have strayed so far from what drives our curiosity that we will lace up our Cole Haans, tie our ties, put on our blouses, slip on our heels, powder up our faces, slick back our hair, and return to giving our lives away for almost nothing in return. 

Perhaps all of this makes me incredibly selfish. I’m just tired of pretending I’m not having a great time. 

2 Replies to “People are dying. The world is falling apart. This is the best time of my life.”

    1. i hear ya. it does feel a little weird to say. but better to embrace it than let it pass us by without some enjoyment. thanks for reading.

Leave a Reply