COVID Has Made It Clear Writing Isn’t What Drives Me

Summary

The author reflects on the impact of COVID-19 on their passion for writing and the importance of in-person interactions in shaping life experiences and inspiration.

Abstract

The author describes a drive through their city, noting the signs of life returning amidst the pandemic, yet also the stark emptiness of once-bustling spaces. They contemplate the loss of daily interactions with colleagues and the profound effect this has had on their sense of connection. While appreciating the shift towards remote work and its benefits, the author questions the long-term consequences of increased social distance and the potential loss of serendipitous encounters that have been pivotal in their life. The pandemic has led the author to reassess their relationship with writing, realizing that their passion lies not in the act of writing itself but in the experiences of life and human connection that inform it. They express a willingness to forgo writing for the chance to engage with the world and people as they did before, cherishing the spontaneous moments of connection that give meaning to their work.

Opinions

The author values the vibrancy of city life and the serendipitous encounters that have diminished due to the pandemic.
There is an appreciation for the increased acceptance of remote work, yet a concern about becoming too removed from one another.
The author does not yearn for a return to the pre-pandemic 'normal,' acknowledging that it was flawed and did not work for everyone.
Writing is no longer seen as the primary driving force in the author's life; it is the experiences of living and human connection that give writing its value.
The author cherishes the small, spontaneous interactions with strangers and the shared experiences in public spaces.
Despite the challenges, the author observes resilience in people, finding ways to connect and live fully despite the restrictions imposed by the pandemic.

I miss writing about living life

I drove through my city yesterday. It looked better than it did a month or two ago. Seats were taken up at outdoor cafes. People — wearing masks — strolled through a farmer’s market. A line waited patiently outside a food truck as a smiling man called out, “Going once, going twice!” into a microphone when orders were ready.

But the empty spaces that used to be full hit me in the heart. Bars and restaurants and coffee shops and streets and workplaces, all mostly empty. Vacant sidewalks. Shady trees shading no one.

The people I saw everyday in my work building I no longer see, and wonder if I ever will again. Front desk workers, maintenance workers, employees from other organizations. We weren’t close enough to exchange numbers and talk about whether they’ll come back to the building when it reopens, but their presence in my daily life was so profound in retrospect that I feel like I should have a way to contact them. The loss of anyone from our lives is shocking, but this was such an odd fade. The reality of how this extended separation would perpetuate missed connections took forever to sink in.

COVID has accelerated remote work and caused a possible, if temporary, migration from cities to suburbs. I appreciate that working from home is finally being considered a viable alternative to what we’ve always done, and enjoy the freedom to do my work on my own time. I don’t want things to “go back to the way they were.” I don’t want normal, whatever that was. That didn’t work for a lot of people and I certainly don’t miss aspects of it. Too much busyness. To much commute, hurry, rush. We weren’t always remembering how to live before this, even though we had more opportunity to do that.

But I do question what will happen if we become even further removed from one another by incorporating separation more and more into the fabric of our society. How far removed is too far removed? If we aren’t out in the world filling up spaces together, when and where will we meet each other? Serendipity has been the driving force behind most of my relationships and influential life experiences. I met my last partner randomly in the hallway in a co-working building. I’ve met many of my best friends after chance encounters in different jobs or cities.

This whole situation has given me a special kind of whiplash. I’ve questioned and re-questioned what matters to me and what makes a good life. Writing is difficult now because I’ve realized I don’t necessarily care about it as much as I thought. I’ve learned I don’t love writing for the sake of writing— I love it only in the context of what I get to write about. Which is life. People. Love. Living is what informs writing, and I only write because I love being out there in the world.

I could easily give up writing for a chance to be out there meeting people the way I used to. To meet eyes with someone new and sidle up to them later with a tentative smile. To open a book on a plane after chatting with my seatmate. To taste the smell of cigarettes smoked in a crowded city. To even just push through people a little bit, work my way through a crowd and smile with teeth at strangers. To walk slowly through a bookstore, trailing a finger along the spines. To come home after spending time away and feel home.

I saw some friends the other night. We walked in the city, laughing through our masks. I’ve been regularly talking on the phone with a friend who lives thousands of miles away in a city I left years ago, and I’m closer to her now that I ever was before. I think about driving through my mostly empty city but finding pockets of life, like hearing that man call in a muffled voice, “Going once, going twice!” while people chuckled.

I look at what we’re doing anyway, despite everything pushing back at us, and it’s like looking at wildflowers growing in cracks in the cement. We find a way to live.