Safe havens found in journals
The growing sense of panic and isolation struck many people a year ago this month. Things started to change. For some, it was the cancellation of schools and closing of offices or the fear of being within a few feet of others at the grocery store. We took to keeping ourselves busy and for some, that meant writing it all down.
Journals, diaries and sketchbooks (sometimes one in the same) provided living history, real-time freaking out, the unfurling of a world-wide event that would lead to an unfathomable number of deaths. But in those beginning days, our journals were oblivious. We knew something was going down, but we thought it would be over soon. Readers graciously shared their 2020 journal entries with me, noting that jotting these things
Sunday, March 21, 2021 down helped in some way to get through. I’ve included them, lightly edited, with my own ramblings. Here’s mine: March 8: Day 1 Quarantine: So far, boring.
March 13: Everything is closed. … We just got a msg that says Nia’s school is closed. Social media sucks. A lot of tense joking. I’m going back to bed. I keep imagining symptoms. All the libraries have closed.
March 15: Up since 2:45 a.m.
March 17: I am beside myself with trying to stay calm.
Day 13???: I didn’t walk today. I have this overwhelming exhaustion. I just want to sleep. … Watching people back away from each other or cross the street is really sad. … I went to the doctor yesterday. The drive over was spectacular: beautiful, snowy, a hawk, empty roads.
***
Almost a year ago today, Albany resident Liza Frenette wrote what read more like the opening to a sci-fi narrative:
March 18: We are given two hours to pack up our laptops, notebooks and essential items. New technology is quickly downloaded onto our systems to enable us to have meetings from home, and to now receive work emails on our phones. It feels surreal. Our offices are closing. I see my colleague take one of the supply carts and load up her office plants. I wonder why, since I think we’re only going to be closed for two weeks. Just in case, though, I do the same, clearing them all from my windowsill on the third floor.march 24: My dining room table is now my work desk. Papers are spread everywhere. I start eating in the living room. We have work meetings on a new app called TEAMS. Some of my friends and I start meeting regularly on this thing called Zoom, to
check in with each other.
April 6: Ten thousand people have died in the U.S. alone from COVID-19. That is twice the population of my home town. They have died alone, in hospitals, unable to have visitors or family. One doctor described their looks as “a thousand mile stare.”