Today marks a week of self-imposed quarantine for me. As every family member and podcast host I’ve heard from in the past week has said, these are strange times. The coronavirus has left me unemployed sooner than expected and a time that, for the past couple years, has been marked by big solo adventures, has suddenly (and indefinitely) become a solo adventure confined to my apartment.
Freedom of movement remains intact- Chicago has not yet mandated people stay inside for all but the essential. I am able to leave my apartment, to walk around my neighborhood, trying to maintain a distance from anyone who passes me on the sidewalk. But bars, restaurants, movie theaters, and clothing stores- the “non-essentials”- are shuttered, with doors bearing handwritten signs reading “Closed for COVID,” “Back when this all blows over,” “Will re-open…?”
And so aside from the occasional walk, I stay inside.
I am coming from a place of financial and medical privilege. And while I anxiously await a response to my unemployment application, I have not reached dire straits. I am young and healthy, but also have friends and family who support my choice to self-quarantine and who encourage health precautions, rather than rebuke them as “over-the-top” or “paranoid.”
So, with that in mind, amid the anxiety and uncertainty, this week has been about re-grounding, re-assessing, and shaping a new routine for this brave new world.
I moved to my apartment in October. Upon moving in, I spent days modifying the space around me: tearing through audiobooks as I painted almost every room, hanging posters and photographs on the walls, and populating shelves with books and various trinkets I’ve amassed over the years. It’s the first time I’ve ever lived alone and I wanted the space to be mine- a complete reflection of my personality and taste (within my budget…).
Yet, despite the hours of labor laying blue tape around seemingly miles of trim and the back-aching work of hauling my mattress alone up two flights of stairs, I haven’t spent much time in my apartment. Working long hours during the week, it’s home through the back door and collapse into bed. And now, this space I have created for myself has become the grounding point for my world.
Early evening on the first day of isolation and the light beamed into the kitchen through the back window, causing a glass of beer I had poured for myself to glow. With daylight savings time in place, the sun sets later, spending the course of the day traveling from the front of my apartment to the back, before finally retreating behind the buildings beyond my alley.
The glowing beer caught my attention. I dug out my camera, dormant since my trip to Milwaukee, and photographed the beer and then other objects scattered about the kitchen light, the sun slowly dwindling. Since then, I’ve left my camera on the couch or countertops- ready to capture these small moments. In my most immediate world of quarantine, that’s what life has boiled down to- small moments. Now more than ever since living alone, I am learning to enjoy my own company, to channel long pent-up creativity that often finds no release during my work season, and to savor the sheer amount of time I’ve been forcibly given.
I’ve seen photographers on Instagram posting images of empty city streets- areas usually jammed with people, left ghostly to curb the spread of disease. Yet, for me, I don’t see these grandiose abandoned spaces in my isolated day-to-day. I see my apartment- the way the light moves throughout the day and glows orange to white to orange before fading into blue. I see myself in the mirror or squeezed into a tiny rectangle in video chats with my sister. I make faces at my reflection, I laugh, I think about how these are strange times.
Onto week two.
XXX
I wanted to share some images I’ve taken in my first week of self-imposed quarantine. As movement has been limited and many peoples’ lives are confined to their homes, I wanted to capture the small moments of my life during this world-altering time. It’s ironic, in a way, that the coronavirus is having global repercussions and will forever leave its mark on history. Yet, for many of us, amid this huge moment for the world, life feels very small and banal, limited by social distancing and shelter in place orders. It’s strange to think that a time of crisis has the potential to be so mundane.
And while, for me, the time presented by isolation has provided an opportunity to tackle projects, I am trying to be mindful that what presents as a quiet time for me is chaotic for others. A pandemic is not a gift. As more people become sick, as the economy shrivels, and as people watch their future and present situations with fearful uncertainty, there is no doubt that the world is in crisis. I worry how things will look, how things will have been irrevocably altered, when we finally pass through this shadow. For many people in the world, the terror of uncertainty is something they already experience- before, during, and after this pandemic. I am grateful to feel anxious while reading the news and not because a loved one is ill, to feel moments of boredom instead of fear for my immediate safety. I am trying to reflect on the complexity of this time, while also making the most of my own situation as I wait, with everyone else, for us to regain our footing in a healthier world.