by Cenk Matalon
Two weeks into the pandemic, I was up in my head—hiding from personal and collective fear, overwhelmed with every logical argument that was available to me: Those who died from the virus are the elderly—I am young and fairly healthy. There are still no verified cases of virus in the small town I live in. I am safe in terms of employment and have nothing to worry about.
Then it hit me.
One day, I noticed frustration in my system. I was getting excessively annoyed with little things. I was lost in thought. As I shifted my focus and stayed with my body’s sensations, I noticed being overwhelmed along with my anger over the fact that my lifestyle had completely changed: I could no longer just leave my apartment and go grocery shopping or dine in a restaurant. I could no longer find humor in the lack of toilet paper. I could no longer run local trails then hit the gym to enjoy a hot tub and sauna. I could no longer feel numb over the news of hundreds of people dying and small businesses closing down—many never to open again.
It all became too real to ignore, too painful to hide from. I was at the end of denial. My bubble of immunity had been burst by an unknown entity that took lives, left families devastated, employees without work, streets empty.
Yes, I was afraid. Yes, I was angry. Yes, I was feeling increasingly overwhelmed by how to adapt to this new reality: What to do, what not to do, how much distance to keep with those around me, how to bring up conversations about social distancing if they don’t seem to care about this as much as I do, etcetera upon endless etcetera.
I was in pain and could not ignore my emotional state.
After I moved some energy physically, I felt more settled. Then I asked my girlfriend to sit in front of me as I set a timer for five minutes. We kept gentle eye contact as we took turns listening to each other without interruption, switching roles every five minutes, practicing for a total of 20 minutes.
As I expressed myself more deeply, something emerged from the fearfulness and being overwhelmed: despair and grief. Tears flowed freely as my mind calmed down, my body softened, my voice became quieter. I felt my heart swell with pain and crack a little. I felt connected.
Yes, people are dying. Yes, I am afraid and frustrated and overwhelmed, but I am also terribly sad. My heart breaks when I hear about people dying from this sudden, unknown entity we call the coronavirus.
Life is fragile. We are vulnerable. So much is completely out of our control. Unknown. Uncertain. Terrifying. Yet underneath it all, there is a fountain of strength, resilience, and love. Collective fear, being overwhelmed, and grief are real, but so are collective wisdom, basic human goodness, and solidarity.
Let’s turn tragedy into grace.
March 2020
British Columbia, Canada
