The Year of Dread

It has been a brutal year for public health workers.

Even for someone like me, who works in IT for a hospital - not on the frontline, but perhaps the “middle line”, if there was such a thing. Circumstances could dramatically change course so quickly in ways my brain still fails to comprehend. Initiatives that usually took weeks were needed in days, and all of this was happening under a dark cloud of uncertainty and disgust at how our at how those in the orbit of the oval office could not be moved to act despite a total death count that crossed half a million.

I felt ambition early on, probably as many of us did when we thought this would only last a month or so. An excuse to stay home and do all those projects or aspirational hobbies. Nights at home without the usual fear of missing out. I started replacing the dated fabric on my kitchen chairs. I bought fabric by the yard, a staple gun, and special fabric scissors that I had to hide from my husband so he didn’t use them to open packages. It took about 3-4 weeks to complete, as my hands could only handle so much stapling and cutting. I don’t have photos of how they used to look, but I can assure you that the new fabric is a major improvement.

Sometime in May or June of last year, it hit me hard that this was not going to be temporary. I cried more days than I didn’t - our of despair, and boredom. Whether coming home meant taking the eerily empty train back from the hospital, or turning off my computer for the day in my apartment, there was no true escape. Work became all about the pandemic Being at home because all about pandemic, because it reminded of me of what I couldn’t do. The headlines were dedicated to the pandemic. For the first time maybe ever, my family started to understand what my job was - but only because the pandemic had gotten so bad.

And then the wildfires came, destroying lives and livelihoods. An insufferable smog blanketed the bay area. The most effective masks for protection against smoke particles were ineffective against against covid , and vice versa. It was now dangerous to be both outdoors and indoors with anyone under any circumstance. I fell into a deep depression, with no end in site.

And yet, despite beginning the New Year in quarantine - or maybe because of it - I started to make art again. I bought a cheap paint set and started to paint. I bought colored paper and glue to decoupage. I started taking a course in pattern design. I bought canvas that I hope to fill with colors, to cover the white walls of my apartment. I began to look for inspiration when I walked through the San Francisco streets, or when I took nature walks close to my home. Wherever I could find it. More importantly, I found a way to pass time without thinking about time. I had finally found a way to be present in the moment.

What began as a home-improvement initiative had become a way not to escape, but a way to stay afloat , a way to engage with the world around me - even if it was just with my own imagination.