The Best Worst News

Hoping and dreading

Last week I got the email with the best worst news I’ve been awaiting. Or was it the worst best news? The university where I work(ed) is reopening for the fall semester, and I will return to work in August.

Yeah!

Oh.

What do you want first? The good news or the bad news?

Here’s the punchline, they’re the same news.

It’s been swell

This has been the longest stretch of time I’ve had without working or looking for a job in my adult life. My free time has been equally productive and profligate. I’ve been writing, reading, exercising, and taking naps when so inclined. I have also frittered away countless hours on Twitter arguing with strangers, Netflix (I highly recommend Somebody Feed Phil), and watching Hallmark Channel Movies (in lieu of drinking).

I like not working. It has much to recommend it! Do I miss my co-workers? One or two, but we chat on the phone. Do I miss leaving my house at 8:00 a.m. and returning after 8:00 p.m? Being so exhausted by Friday that I get home and debate if I should eat dinner or go directly to bed? Dealing with people who view me as their enemy solely because I am management and they are labor? Not really, not any of it.

Return, but not to normal

But none of those things are what make returning to work the best worst news. It is going back into the world I dread. I will leave the safety and security of my house. I will be out there, where the virus may lurk anywhere. It might be on one of the four buses I ride daily, the public restroom I use, or the hundreds of college students I will encounter daily. 

All that said, I will go back when I am summoned. I am rested and restored by four conflict-free months of answering to no one. It’s been glorious, well, except for the world being on fire. But that is outside my circle of influence (Twitter notwithstanding.)

It turns out I’m old

Before Covid_19 arrived I didn’t consider myself a senior citizen. Yet, suddenly I was offered special hours to shop, along with special warnings that people of my advanced years are at greater risk. For most of my life, I’ve considered myself hale and hearty; strong peasant stock, I am. Am I?

From a virological perspective, I am old and as this pandemic rages on I am getting ready to put myself in a situation where I’ll encounter lots of people in their late teens and early twenties, many of whom have questionable judgment. Being around these kids is how I earn a living. Will caution be enough to protect me or is my contracting the virus inevitable? Some days I wish I would just catch it so I could move on from the persistent fear. 

The world beyond my door

I’m sure I’ve mentioned that I rarely go out. Last week I ran two errands on different days; the most I’ve been out in months. I stopped taking walks a while ago, deciding to exercise inside. I go to the grocery store and Target, that’s it. When I go out I feel vulnerable and exposed.

Monday I went to the dentist and as I was leaving a man without a mask boarded the elevator I was on. I didn’t say anything, but I felt alarmed and angry. I’m sure as I go out more frequently I’ll encounter more unmasked people. I need to get my elevator pitch prepared. Something a little humorous with just enough edge to indicate I’m serious. When I perfect it I’ll let you know. 

On your mark, get set, go…

These months have given me an opportunity to revive practices I’d all but abandoned. As much as I’m afraid of getting sick, I’m equally worried about what I’ll lose as my time and energy get sapped from me. Will I have the stamina to keep exercising or the discipline to write something worth posting weekly? What about the pile of still unread books on my bed? Should I lower my expectations before I even try?

I hear each of you whispering your kind encouraging words to me…

• Take it one day at a time 
• Pace yourself
• Make a schedule and commit
• Set boundaries at work
• Wear your mask and wash your hands
• Don’t ingestdisinfectant

All words to live (well) by.