I think it was a Sunday. My friend Alli called and told me that her car had died. We planned to try jump starting it later that day, but in the meantime, I offered to give her a ride to work. I’ll take any opportunity to get out of my apartment and drive. Of all my friends and family, I may be the most paranoid when it comes to staying indoors and avoiding human contact. By and large, I do not physically leave the confines of my apartment. I pick up groceries once a week, but other than that, I have no other obligations that require me to go out. Driving is my one concession. I’ve always loved driving, but I especially do now when I no longer have my daily commute. It has become something of a scarcity and is purely recreational. So much of my life is spent stationary, it’s exhilarating to travel at anything faster than 10 miles per hour. Listening to music and singing in the car is also one of my absolute pleasures.

Am I spending too much time inside? My parents would say so. I’m only just now starting to take walks around my neighborhood. Only took me five months. For me, I would rather be overly cautious and possibly ridiculed for it than fall ill out of carelessness and possibly sicken others. But what price am I paying for my isolation? There are definitely days where cabin fever takes hold and I’m hopelessly unproductive and despondent. When there’s not much going on in your life, it’s easy for your insecurities to resurface and hard to dispel them. When every day feels the same, things tend to turn in on themselves. What may be the most insidious angle to this whole situation is the timelessness. There is no end in sight. There are ballparks, figures, and hopes, but no one knows what the next month, months, and years have in store. We’re struggling through each day under the assumption that it will all be worth it because eventually everything will go back to normal. It’s possible that that day may never come.

Taking things one day at a time is certainly manageable, but eventually the silence and solitude will compel you to take a glimpse at the future. What isn’t nebulous is grim and it’s natural to slip into despair. It’s a catch-22. Being informed makes you aware of the terrible state of the world, but blocking it all out forces you to grapple with uncertainty. You’ll have to pick your battle. But through it all, I think it’s possible to retain some semblance of humor (at the very least, from how absurd the world has become). Being able to find humor in small things, everyday things, random things, tragic things - that’s what keeps me sane. If I can find happiness in seeing a big old dog taking a dump, I just might be able to make it.