The Loneliest Year: Part Three

May 2020

I walked a lot. I walked by myself, and occasionally, I’d go on a socially-distanced walk with a friend.

While walking with my friend, Grant, at Pan Pacific Park, we ran into my friend, Tamara, and we talked to each other, spread out in a giant triangle.

One day, after reaching 31,310 steps while walking, I celebrated the achievement by re-watching Isn’t It Romantic? and eating pizza and Trolls-themed mini-cupcakes.

The following week, I started a new diet of only 2000 calories a day.

I lifted weights five days a week.

I caught up on This is Us, Good Girls and Charmed, I watched Hollywood on Netflix within the span of a week, and I watched the entire second season of Dead to Me in a day, because it’s impossible to not watch Dead to Me in one day.

I watched Bombshell in Concert, a musical inspired by the television show, Smash. It opened for one night on Broadway in 2015, and it was now being aired on TV as a fundraiser for the Actors Fund.

Eventually, I started re-watching an anime called Bleach at night while eating salad before going to bed.

The gay bathhouse story I shared live in March, two weeks before I started quarantine, was released on the RISK! podcast, and I taught a one-day online Groundlings class called “Improv for Life.”

I continued working on both of my TV pilots, and my friend, George McGrath, a successful TV writer, met with me via Zoom to share his process for developing and writing a pilot.

I wrote a short play entitled Summer Thunderstorm, and I submitted it to Playing on Air’s James Stevenson Prize Competition. And afterward, I started writing a short film. Why not?

I found out that my name, Navaris, had become the brand name of a German company that makes house and living products—that, in Germany, I was literally a household name.

I called my mom and wished her “Happy Mother’s Day!” Then, I went on another socially-distanced walk with my L.A. mom, Phyllis, around the canyon. I also brought her some (non-Trolls-themed) cupcakes and my new favorite tea, Sweet Tangerine, which claimed to provide positive energy.

L.A.’s stay-at-home order got extended three more months, and I wasn't mad about it.

While walking one night, the sky was such a rich sapphire hue, I wished that I could share it with Jesse. I relaxed, and I sent him a mental message, and I knew that he would see it somehow. I posted photos of the sky on my Insta-Story, and the next day, by happenstance, I saw that he’d looked at them.

Marcus (from New Zealand) went MIA for a few weeks, but then he resurfaced and apologized, and we resumed chatting.

I connected with a dreamy guy named Michael who was from Germany but lived in Portugal, and we started going on video dates via WhatsApp.

A guy I’d hooked up with before the pandemic hit me up, and I told him that I’d be open to something regular and safe. A few days later, he posted an Instagram photo of him and another guy in San Diego, not wearing masks. And that was the end of that.

I matched with a guy named Bobby on Tinder who lived in LA, and we started going on FaceTime dates.

I hardly registered the three-day weekend for Memorial Day because I’d been in a perpetual weekend since mid-March.

On May 27th, I saw posts online about an innocent black man named George Floyd who’d been murdered by a white police officer in Minnesota, and it broke my heart.

Three days later, there was a peaceful protest at Pan Pacific Park that turned into a riot when it moved to 3rd and Fairfax. There were helicopters, sirens, and loud explosions going off all around my neighborhood until the late evening, and an 8 PM curfew was issued.

I texted Jesse for the first time since the pandemic started: I’m not sure how close you are to all of the insanity happening right now. [I’m] fine, but it feels pretty intense over here. I pray you’re safe and well.

He responded: I’m safe, and I’m glad you are, too.

I was grateful that he responded, but I wished I could be with him in person.

I tried to write a song about everything I was feeling, but I couldn’t concentrate, because I kept crying. My heart bled for every sad thing in the world.

The next day, I stayed in bed, crying and checking social media, watching as a peaceful protest in Santa Monica turned violent because of cop escalation, outside agitators, and opportunistic looters.

* * *

Part Four:

* * *

Note from the Writer

This is part three in a thirteen-part essay series that details my year in quarantine from March 15, 2020 to March 15, 2021. If you enjoyed this essay, I hope you'll add a heart and continue reading the other essays in the series.

Tips are not mandatory, but greatly appreciated.

Thank you for reading.