Nothing keeps me saner than the long midday walks I go on in between staring at screens and the audiobooks I've been listening to while I meander. Sometimes story elements bleed into my walking path, and I get to notice a sweet verisimilitude and drift deeper into the narrative.
In this age of quarantine, we all have something in common. Until a few weeks ago, most of us had three separate and distinct “places” in our lives: our homes, our workplaces, and our third places – those places for, well, just about everything else. These third places are where we engage in essential social experiences, where we come together, where we meet friends, practice our hobbies, and express ourselves.
Three different activities, three different identities, built on a lifetime of habit. And for the last few weeks, they have all been reduced to one place: Our homes.
I have dabbled in reading the Tarot for the last 8 years or so. I was attracted to the images long before someone first gave me a reading, but I was afraid that my very practical community would ridicule me for believing in the unseen. It took a couple bad relationships for me to get to know myself and accept my witchy tendencies. It took a growing emptiness inside of me to realize that I needed to go deeper than "face value" with the cards.
As I process these internet orders for you, I miss the interactions that might have been. I miss my coworkers, all of them. I understand how privileged I am to be working from home at this juncture. And it's hard to grapple with the guilt of being one of the lucky ones, when we are on different sides of the same coin and nothing is perfect.
If social media is right, and it always is (at least in some fashion), people are now discovering that their apartment has a kitchen. I'm seeing daily "what I cooked" posts from celebrities, I'm seeing influencers making bread for the first time in their lives and being amazed by dough. But it's not just celebrities and influencers!