The Corona Chronicles

Everything’s Gonna Be Alright! Just Don’t Take My Word for It.

Positivity is my coping mechanism—And love is all I have to give.

Yesterday I read a bunch of articles that made me realize that in the midst of this worldwide catastrophe, I’ve forged for myself a giant, fluffy, pink bubble. Inside, with me, I’ve brought my daughter, my boyfriend, my crystals, candles, some wine, and a ton of comfort food—as well as a (hypothetical) stereo playing Bob Marley on repeat:

Everything’s gonna be alright (yeah) Everything’s gonna be okay (no doubt) Everything’s gonna be alright’ Together we can take this one day at a time

Surely, I know it’s grim out there.

I know, very well, that my self-fabricated rose-colored reality is far from real, but a product of these lenses I put on to cope.

I feel the pain of those who are isolated alone, without company and physical touch. I hurt for the old and sick who don’t have anyone to care for them.

I’m mortified at the thought of the abundance of abuse victims, especially children, who are currently locked up with their perpetrators 24/7, with no safe sanctuary to resort to, and little chance to seek help.

I ache for those who are seeing their livelihoods dissipate, and for the wretched financial situations of the many who have no support from either their families or their governments.

My heart cries out to those who are sick and fighting for their last breaths, and to the many who have, and will, lose their loved ones.

From this small corner of my bubble—where I try to focus on the blessings and beauty in all the little things, though I, too, have plenty to be concerned about—I’m not blind to any of it. As I’m listening to the tweet-tweeting of spring birds outside and convincing myself that “everything’s gonna be alright”—they aren’t—for a lot of people.

And I feel powerless.

Optimism is my survival technique.

At the cusp of breaking the one million mark of confirmed COVID-19 cases worldwide, and knowing that this number only reflects a portion of those actually affected, it’s safe to say that I’m anxious.

Scratch that.

I’m fucking terrified!

But, this is just how I deal.

In Kelli’s Taxonomy of Online Pandemic Archetypes, I’m your die-hard optimist. You can trust that I’ll hold onto hope even when it’s the last thing I have.

In my heart of hearts, I want to believe that, in some way or another, this shitstorm will bring with it some kind of shift that will eventually change things for the better.

I’m such a hopeless romantic that in an article I published last week, I wrote about the returning of dolphins and swans to Italy due to a reduction in carbon emissions in lock-down areas. When it was later pointed out to me that this was, in fact, fake news, I didn’t want to hear it.

I need the dolphins and the swans right now, goddamnit!

What do we write about while the world crumbles?

The vast majority of current articles on Medium seem to be about the pandemic, and I’m finding it challenging to put out my regular content.

As a sex writer (amongst other things) this just doesn’t feel like the time to finish that piece on ‘how to plan the ultimate orgy’. ‘Go out and have public sex in the city. Risk getting arrested, not only for indecent exposure but for attempted bioterrorism.’ It simply feels uncalled for at the moment.

To write about recovering from narcissistic abuse also seems gratuitous in a climate where I should serve up strategies on how to recover from the freakin’ end of the world instead.

Despite having spent a significant amount of time thinking about how I’d survive a potential zombie apocalypse, I’m neither a scientist nor a virologist; I’m your doctor of no-thing.

(Unless, of course, you’re calling Dr. Love…)

In all seriousness though, few of my regular topics feel worthy of deliberation these days, and all I’m left with is my undying positivity. To the table, I bring my hope, faith, and bottomless love. Maybe I may offer a grain of wisdom here and there, a bit of sensual energy, a dash of silly sexiness, and hopefully some humor too.

But, really–that’s it.

What do we have to offer as writers right now?

I look around me and I’m amazed and thankful for the different viewpoints and perspectives coming from my fellow writers at this time. It truly adds new meaning to the George RR Martin quote saying that “a reader lives a thousand lives…”

My dear friend Yael, let’s me into what it’s like to be alone in this pandemic, as I feel I’m about to lose my sanity from never being alone. While darling Demeter reminds me of the importance of alone time and self-love, even when you do find yourself in a full house.

Jessica Lovejoy’s piece about how the pandemic certainly is an excuse to stop exercising really opened my eyes, mostly to the idea that there’s no wrong or right way to feel right now, whether that means slowing down or training for a marathon. I second her statement that “what we need right now is compassion”.

As someone who’s been hell-bent on promoting sex as the best medicine and attempting to fuck the plague away (which clearly was a tad satirical), I truly appreciated the fearless Gillian’s angle on sex during the pandemic, which allows me to understand just how differently us humans handle stress.

The luminous Leigh Norén, MSc further enlightened me on this topic with her article about how anxiety makes some people want to have sex — and others not.

Every viewpoint and way of coping is valid.

In these extraordinary times, us writers, even those of us without medical or science degrees, get to use our words to share our worlds, and through that, we may bring us all a little closer—despite the enforced physical distance.

We get to do that in whatever way makes sense to us whether it comes in the form of Unicorn prompts via Chris, or factual pieces via Medium’s Corona-blog, and know that each perspective has a place.

I, wide-eyed or not, need my alacrity to cope. This means I’ll keep putting out playlists for pandemic dance parties, and write articles about how sex cures everything—simply because that’s what I want to believe.

And, no matter how grim it gets, I’ll also continue to run in the sun, sing in the shower and steep my self in at least one glass of red wine every evening. Oh, and I’ll keep this one on repeat:

Everything’s gonna be alright Everything’s gonna be alright And nobody’s gotta worry ‘bout nothing Don’t go hittin’ that panic button It ain’t worth spilling your drink Everything’s gonna be alright Alright, alright

Good night!

Currently shacked up with her (soon) five-year-old daughter, Ella, and her boyfriend of ten months, Jay, Ena Dahl reports regularly from their day-to-day lives in self-quarantine on the South East side of Berlin.

The Corona Chronicles will feature a collection of updates, poems, ponderings, short articles, and other literary pieces from these times while all three of them share a home for the first time.