Monday: The Kid and I are heading upstate for a few days, to a cabin with no internet, no wi-fi, no cable, but a nearby state park, grill, outdoor chairs, lots of books and, says the proprietor, VCR tapes. We’re taking a jigsaw puzzle, books, mosquito repellant, walking shoes, swimsuits.
New York City today enters Phase 3 of reopening (save for indoor dining). Numbers of COVID-19 sufferers in New York City and State have bumped up the past few week, but numbers in the hospitals, numbers of dead, have continued to decline. The improving local picture contrasts markedly with spiking numbers across much of the rest of the country — aside from the number of dead, which either remains a lagging indicator or reflects better protections of old people or reflects improved medical treatments as doctors manage the virus or, most likely, all three.
I likely won’t post for a few days. (I’d have to drive to a town to find wi-fi; I doubt I’ll want to.) I may write. I’ve written and posted for 112 straight days. I’m not sure if I’ll continue this part of this project. I’m tired of writing, tired of the daily (self-imposed) deadline, feel a sense of diminishing returns. But the project has also given structure and meaning to a deeply unsettling stretch. I’m scared to stop.
Many dull days I’ve refreshed myself with a reminder or two.
As CoronaWorld reality set in, a friend and generous reader cited advice of her friend, photographer Alec Soth, to students: “If you can’t make anything up, if you can’t think straight, it’s enough to get down the details. Record the things you’ll forget, that your brain will later shield from you the way trauma erases and reshapes memory. Your last night out in the world. The last time things seemed normal. The morning the grocery store first felt dangerous. The first moment it all felt close to home. The room where you are isolating now.”
“The function of art in society is to build. We rebuild when we’re in danger of collapsing.” — Sigmund Freud
“Recounting the story … allows us to put the parts and pieces into context, and also to develop meaning from the story. Those elements — the recalling and setting to rest, and putting it in a meaningful context — are part of the recovery process.” — Dr. Robert Ursano, professor of psychiatry and neuroscience.
“We use our minds not to discover facts but to hide them.” — neuroscientist Antonio Damasio
Research from Southern Methodist University suggested that writing or talking about traumatic experiences had a positive impact on a patient’s health and immune system. Holding back thoughts and emotions is stressful; you have the negative feelings either way, but you have to work to repress them. That taxes the brain and body, making you more susceptible to getting sick or just feeling awful. — Eric Ravenscraft, The New York Times.
To keep such projects constructive, Ravenscraft made a few suggestions: choose the right time to talk; talk about the good as well as the bad; choose an endpoint.
See you on the other side.
3 comments:
Just the few details you sketched of your trip upstate painted a picture of a soothing much-deserved respite. I could hear the mosquitoes you'll (hopefully) repel, and see the edges of the jigsaw pieces. That's good advice about capturing the details; it has served me the last few months. Wishing you and your companion fresh breezes, rest, refreshment.
Hope your trip was peaceful and all is well. Are you continuing this blog (or something akin to it) somewhere else?
Hi, Alison. Blog is continuing -- I just posted a new entry today (July 31). Thanks for reading!
Post a Comment