Tag: covid (page 1 of 1)

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July 25, 2021 / 0 Comments

The Summer of Uncertain Vibes

“Soon you’ll find the answer.”

— The Polyphonic Spree

Apparently, July is for binging The Polyphonic Spree. The last time I decided to pull up the albums I love from the Texas-based psychedelic pop choir was this same month six years ago. I don’t remember what sparked that session, so let’s mark this one.

I bought airplane tickets to Paris, France, this week. The anticipated travel feels both imminent and precarious even though it’s a couple of months away. Trying to live in the age of COVID-19 continues to be like this: having the courage to live life to the fullest in unsettled times.

A tweet that Ann Friedman referenced in her most recent newsletter defined this well:

It is the summer of uncertain vibes! On the night I bought those tickets, I also chose not to go to the gym because I couldn’t find my preferred mask for working out. Those tickets were purchased weeks later than I intended because I struggled to work past my fears that something might derail the adventure before it even got off the ground. Will my passport renewal return in time? Will the variants change border and travel rules? Will the anti-vax fervor in the states continue its expansion across the globe? Will some yet to be known threat grip us anew?

As I fought through those thoughts to click a big blue button to confirm purchase for two on a rocket that will cross the Atlantic, Section 14 (Two Thousand Places) shuffled up into my ears.

“You gotta be good.
You gotta be strong.
You gotta be two thousand places at once.
And I know there’s a lot outside the window.
It seems a lot for you and me.”

— The Polyphonic Spree

This was the vibe. It’s a lot but you gotta do it. So I went down the rabbit hole. First, playing all of Together We’re Heavy and then moving on to The Beginning Stages of…

I’d already been thinking about making a playlist for this summer in which, internally, I am two thousand places at once. Mostly, there’s joy here. There’s sun on my face and in my heart as I get back to all that is outside my window. But, there’s also trepidation and anxiety as we mask up and fires burn, and dudes with too much money go to space while the neediest of us sleep under those same stars hoping to make it through the night. I’ve been bopping around between the latest from Hiatus Kaiyote and Tyler, The Creator sprinkled with productions from Adrian Younge and the mysterious folks behind the artists associated with Sault but it was Tim DeLaughter’s box of oddities that brought it all together.

I bought plane tickets. I bought some new masks. I’m grateful this week for my good fortune and the sun and courage.

And I’m grateful for this music that is soundtracking one weird-ass summer.

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March 7, 2021 / 0 Comments

Sun Rings/Uprising

“The sunrise in Zulu is ‘ukuphuma kwelanga’ which means, I guess, the coming out of the sun. Yeah!”

— The opening lines of Nicolay’s Sun Rings/Uprising

Over the last few days, I’ve thought about that last flight home from New York on March 6th of 2020. The one where masks started to appear with more frequency, and people sanitized everything at their seats; the one where my wife didn’t want me to kiss her upon my arrival back in the house. There was family dinner at my sister’s place on that Sunday and discussions of whether recent trips and work events had exposed any of us. I’ve been thinking about my last trip into the office on Monday, March 9th, 2020, and canceling my last in-person session with my trainer. And then March 11th. And March 12th. And March 13th. And my birthday. And then the fugue state of the next eight months.

One year into the pandemic and I am both marking the milestones of the start of “safer-at-home” practices while imagining what appears to be a rapidly approaching “free to roam about the cabin” post-crisis phase of COVID.

It’s an overcast day in Los Angeles, but I feel like I’m going to burst out of this like a solar flare. Over the last 90 days or so, I’ve been working on my fitness. Physically, mentally, and spiritually I’m working at optimal levels, and I’m ready for the world. The fog I was in for much of 2020 has cleared and been pushed back by, as my sister put it yesterday, the holy trinity of meditation, journal writing, and working out.

In my end-of-year survey, I wrote about the days where I felt small. Those days have moved from infrequent to non-existent in recent weeks. I sense my spirit expanding. My desire to do what’s good and right is knocking up against my disinterest in conflict, and “good” is starting to win the wrestling match with “safe.”

Over the course of this past week, Twitter was increasingly filled with notes of anxiety about being back in a more open world. Not me, nerds. There are many things I plan to take with me from this prolonged public health crisis—a more disciplined approach to preventing the spread of illness chief among them—but I’m not stressed about what comes next.

Ukuphuma kwelanga.

This sun is coming out.

Be ready.

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February 14, 2021 / 0 Comments

Love You Bad

“And I just wanna love you bad.”

— Terrace Martin, Robert Glasper, 9th Wonder, and Kamasi Washington feat. Phoelix

The pandemic is a trickster god. There have been moments, hours, days during this past year when I was convinced I was alone in this less than epic story of survival. Before COVID, my love well filled with the smiles of strangers, the soft eyes of my friends and family, and the hugs and high fives of all willing partners.

My life force demands laughter.

My currency is kindness.

My vault used to overflow with both.

Love in the time of the pandemic is the accumulation of small favors. A box of cookies from another state might sustain my soul for weeks. A compliment from a grocery store clerk might keep me buoyant for the day. Strangers delighted by my LED face mask on a walk would bring a huge grin to my face that they couldn’t see. A text. A postcard. A surprise socially distanced drive by. A video chat happy hour that doesn’t suck.

But that’s not every day. In those late summer months, the little things that matter most to me felt out of stock. My love well was so dry.

A colleague’s mother got critically ill in late September, and that was the time when I figured out that I could replenish my love supply: by showing others you give a shit.

I give a shit about you.

I’ve been doing the little things, and I hope it shows. If it doesn’t, I understand, though. That pandemic trickster god has been a stubborn asshole who has long overstayed their welcome.

Happy Valentine’s Day.