I am lounging on a mocha armchair watching a first-season episode of Law and Order: SVU. My hands are idly rummaging through my just washed-and-dried hair. I have done nothing all day but stare at the TV and a notepad of the first few lines of what is going to be a poem. Maybe tomorrow I’ll do the same. Maybe I won’t. It’s a new rhythm that my bones haven’t quite set into because every day the dance changes. This is the unpredictability of being a creative person while in quarantine.
The state of our national psyche has been severely impacted by the ill-fated effects of the global pandemic caused by COVID-19. The outbreak found most of America unprepared and incompetent, at the mercy of a disease that first swept other sides of the world before it came to us. Thousands have died and to help curtail the transfer of the disease and death of more, our national physicality has been limited to wherever we call home, in quarantine. Most of the institutions that we are a part of, the systems we cultivate, and the routines we follow have been uprooted, forcing us to reevaluate most of the things in our life. It’s a bittersweet reality that I am now adjusting to.
For the first few weeks of quarantine life, I was delighted for the extra free time. I was still reeling from my therapeutic week of what was spring break and there was nothing I wanted to do but lie around and sink into that leftover haze. The news that school was moving online only made me happier, though I would later change my view on this. When the reality sank in that I have acquired all this free time, I was determined to be productive. Without a doubt, I would do all my schoolwork on time, read those essays I have bookmarked on my laptop for months, rebrand my social media, freelance more articles, and write more poems. I have never had this much free time before so surely I must use it wisely and try to better myself as a writer.
However, after those initial weeks, I came to a realization, partially a result of my daydreams and the words of Black women. We live in a capitalistic society, one where our worth is determined by how productive we can be and one where we live for profit. Even in a time when I should be resting and figuring how out to help others heal, I’m met with the overwhelming urge to produce (great) work. Online classes soon started to feel like a task I couldn’t be bothered to complete, I couldn’t find the energy to pay attention to all the things I had in the queue. Resting and taking too much time off felt like a betrayal, but I am not sure to whom. After reading the words of Audre Lorde in “Poetry Is Not a Luxury” – where she proclaims that feelings were not meant to survive in a world of institutional dehumanization – her words gave me clarity. I’ve decided to reclaim my feelings and to define productivity for myself. I decided that I didn’t need to do anything other than what I felt like that day, and that was okay.
Some days I just strictly focus on my school assignments. Some days, I take walks around the neighborhood, order food, and write poems. Most days, I just nap endlessly and awake in the night to work. The dance changes every day. And keeps me creatively sane.
