Showing posts with label organizing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label organizing. Show all posts

Monday, August 31, 2020

Getting Past Pandemic Fears

Carolyn J. Rose

 

 


 

Fear can cause us to fight. But fear can also cause us to freeze. And early reports about the pandemic did that to me. Even with a mask and gloves and a pop-up dispenser of wipes, I was afraid to leave the house. Paralyzed with fear, I brooded about all the activities I was missing out on, took my temperature several times a day, and read every scrap of information that appeared in the paper or on the internet.

And then, because so many reports conflicted with others, I got a grip and forced myself to get past the fear. Quarantine days can seem to be all the same. To counter that, I made a plan and designed a structure for each day. My goal was to begin with anticipation and direction, and end with a sense of accomplishment.

The first step was to eat right and exercise to stay as healthy as possible. The pool and gym were closed, but I got out into the yard and out on the streets for a long walk every day. I raked and weeded and pruned. When it got warmer, I painted and planted. I tried new recipes and ordered meals I’d never tried from local restaurants to do my bit to help them stay afloat.

The second step was to create ways to generate positive feelings and feel I was making progress instead of marking time. I made a list of chores I’ve been meaning to get around to for years and, one by one, I got around to them. I cleaned and sorted and reorganized, I enjoyed the tasks because, with nowhere else to go and not much else to do, I was able to take my time.

The third step was to network close to home. While I was walking and weeding, I waved at and then talked to neighbors whose names I didn’t know. I learned their names quickly and now we have social-distancing get-togethers where we bring our own drinks and food and chat for an hour or two. We help each other by shopping and running errands, lending books, recommending movies and TV shows, and passing along advice and recipes.

The fourth step was to reach out. As I culled and reorganized, I sent photos and knickknacks and books to friends I hadn’t seen for years. They responded. I wrote back. Now, I begin each day by emailing about 40 people who live all across the country, in Mexico, and in Scotland. I send short essays about the hummingbirds at my feeder, stealthy ways to give away zucchini under cover of darkness, worst and best teachers, memories of life in the 1950s, etc. When people respond and react, I often share their comments. We have a sense of community.

The final step was to make a list of what’s really important to me now and another of what will be important when the pandemic passes. As it turns out, the same things are on both lists—health, friendship, and a sense of purpose.

 

    

 

 

 

 

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

The Internet Never Forgets






Carolyn J. Rose

It doesn’t seem fair.
I struggle to remember names and dates and places.

 The Internet never forgets. In fact, not only does its vast memory hold correct information, but it has room for erroneous information as well.

I lose addresses and scraps of paper on which I’ve jotted the titles of books I intend to read, chores I need to complete, and phone calls that should be made.

The Internet keeps everything.

I have to winnow out clothes and books and reorganize closets and shelves to make room for new acquisitions. The Internet just adds another shelf, another closet, another room, another warehouse.

And once something is stored on the Internet, good luck tossing it out or altering it.

I’ve authored books now out of print and no longer available, but apparently the Internet isn’t convinced of that. I have profiles I can’t seem to change on social media sites I no longer belong to. My father died in 2003, but I’ve found a place on the Internet where he’s listed as being in his 90s and living in a house sold years ago.

I find that weird and even painful. But I also find it oddly comforting.

I’ve started to think of the Internet as a scrapbook that’s been in the family for decades. The tape has yellowed and the glue no longer sticks. Pictures and notes have come loose, been stuffed behind others, or crammed into a rubber-banded stack at the back of the book. It’s all there. You just have to know where to look.

As I get older and begin to forget more little things and my mind starts to wander and betray me, I’m cheered by the thought that the Internet has my back. I’ll be okay. As long as I can find my password.