I just scrolled briefly through this blog (I practice serious avoidance re-reading old public entries) and everything I rambled about seems meaningless.
I feel guilty for having the privilege of working remote. It does give me hope, however, that at least in my absurd privilege, I am doing work at home that is presumably meaningful for myself and others. In some ways, it feels more meaningful as a whole now than it has ever before.
Aside from my personal mild anxieties about where this COVID-19 crisis will end up for me and my loved ones (balancing preparedness and seriousness with not getting ahead of myself), I have noticed my increased concern for the greater society of underprivileged and underserved people. Admittedly, I have not had this much concern for the population outside of my bubble in years. Despite being a social worker, I have been too wrapped up in my own anxieties and mental plagues in the last several years (including that of my patients'). The last time I was emotionally invested in vulnerable populations was six years ago before I moved to my fantasy Dream Girl city, New York. That was the last time in a while to lose sleep over the unfairness of my privilege and the life of those that I served in Cincinnati. Of course, losing sleep didn't make things better and doesn't make me a saint, but at least it was on my mind.
While this situation does call attention to the discomfort of the work-related adjustments I need to make, much of my life actually hasn't changed. Relating to other highly-educated and gainfully employed millennials, social isolation is a huge adjustment. It has made me consider this as well, that no matter how unsocial I am, there is still a social part of me. Still, the social adjustments and recommendations has made minimal impact on my lifestyle. I am almost always at home, pre-coronavirus. I feel grateful that this is not yet another disruption and adjustment to make that many of the people in similar situations as me must make. I think about them as well-- the social extroverts out there, or the people who have shitty roommates or violent domestic lives. The people who can't afford to stock up. The people who just lost their jobs. The people who don't even have places to self-quarantine.
I find it incredible that the sun still rises, no matter how much the chaos ensues. It still does its same damn job, brightening the city, creating warmth. Sometimes it feels soothing and comforting, and at other times, it feels disturbingly insensitive.
