THE ISOLATION JOURNALS - DAY 30 - TICKET TO RIDE

Today’s prompt:

Create a time capsule of the past month. What has this time meant for you? Write about the things you thought about and the things you ate. Write about how your world has stayed the same and also how it’s changed. Write about what you struggled with and maybe would honestly rather forget. Write about where you found delight; the things you fear will fade and want to immortalize for yourself now and for the future you.

Ticket to Ride

Thirty days ago, I embarked on this Isolation Journals journey. It’s meant more to me than I could’ve expected. I’ve deepened connections with people I already knew. I’ve made connections with people I wouldn’t have met otherwise. And I’ve connected with myself in a way that would normally have required months of therapy.

Suleika Jaouad, the Isolation Journals’ genius creator, announced that the project will continue into May. But not for me. Or, at least, not in the same way. As much as I’ve enjoyed the experience of writing on a daily basis and shooting it out into the universe, it’s time for me to stop.

I’ve spent the past month looking inward and backward. I plan to spend the next month looking outward and forward. I will be reading other people’s Isolation Journal entries, promoting my debut novel (A Good Family, due out 7/14), and editing my second novel (a humorous and heartfelt re-telling of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility).

This past month, I used the daily Isolation Journals prompts as a jumping off point, something that may or may not have had much relation to the final piece that I posted on my blog. But tonight, I’m feeling literal. Honestly, I’m feeling a little tired. So, for this last entry, I’m breaking down the prompt into its component parts and treating it like an interview—an interview with the author.

What has this time meant for you? Gratitude. I’m grateful for my health. For my husband and younger son under one roof with me. For my job that allows me to be productive while remaining safe. For the fresh food in my refrigerator, the water and electric and gas services that keep me comfortable, the clean air that I breathe, the soft sheets in my bed. For the friends who check in and support me every day.

What things did you think about? My parents and older son so far away. The homeless living on the streets. The people around the world suffering in countless ways.

What did you eat? Comfort food: matzoh ball soup, budae chigae, tuna noodle casserole. And salads in between to smooth out the guilt.

How has your world stayed the same? I still work too hard. I still don’t exercise enough. I still wish I had more time in the day.

How has your world changed? I can’t believe the world stopped. “Climate change!” we all shouted, but no one would listen. But when the pandemic arrived, the world actually stopped. I felt the earth breathing, but at what cost?

What did you struggle with? My privilege. Tens of thousands dead. Countless more unemployed. The after-shocks of the pandemic are beyond imagination. And yet, my life goes on pretty much as before. Why me? And why not me?

What would you rather forget? Always, my brother’s death. It has nothing to do with the pandemic but everything to do with life.

Where did you find delight? Early evening walks with my husband. Cut-throat games of Ticket to Ride and Dominion. Laughing out loud at old episodes of 30 Rock. Taking time to admire (and smell) the roses in Golden Gate Park.

What do you fear will fade? In one of my favorite plays, Thornton Wilder’s Our Town, Emily comes back from the dead. She joyfully watches a scene from her childhood, but her joy quickly fades as she sees how little attention people pay to the precious moments of life. In this pandemic, we’ve all been given the gift of attention. I fear people will squander this gift – or will let the memory of this gift fade over time.

What do you want to immortalize for yourself now? What do you want to immortalize for future you? The Isolation Journals experience has allowed me to capture moments of my life in writing. As I review my daily entries, I see a through-line, something bigger than the individual vignettes. Perhaps there’s a story that will outlast the current moment.

But honestly, as much as it means to me to write, to make connections, and to leave a written legacy, I’m less concerned about immortal me and more interested in mortal me. That’s why I’ll no longer be writing with the Isolation Journals. I want to spend more time looking forward, talking long walks, and smelling the roses.

Not to mention trying to beat my son in the next game of Dominion.