Chrysalis: Making the most of a lost year
Two weeks, they said. Anyone else have trust issues now?
February 28, 2020, I boarded the plane in the final step of my relocation from Providence, RI to Austin, TX. After hearing about Austin for years, I was looking forward to shows, festivals, cultural events, finding new friends, starting my new job, and finding a tattoo apprenticeship. I flew down here when we were being told not to wear masks, that they don’t help. I remember walking through the airport, uneasy about how many of us were still traveling and feeling like it was wrong, but the warnings out of Wuhan were not being matched by the voices in our government. Just two weeks after my move, I had barely learned my job before we transitioned to remote work. As an introvert and a creative, I remember feeling uniquely prepared for what we thought would be a two week lockdown.
It’s been thirteen months. I didn’t expect I’d spend the year alone in a box, puttering around laughing and crying alone, acting out dialogues by myself, twerking at the cat, with all of my relationships happening through a screen.
I secured stable employment in the nick of time. If I had ended up in the other job I was competing for, I would have sold all of my belongings and relocated across the country, only to be instantly furloughed. If I had taken the alternate start date, I would never have met my colleagues in person, would never have seen our office, would have had an impossible time learning the job. I secured an apartment in advance and had my belongings shipped to me; if I hadn’t, I would have been sitting in an empty apartment for months until businesses reopened. There hasn’t been a day that I have not been grateful to have made the decisions I had, and to have half a country between me and my previous life.
In the coming months, I read headlines from across the country about museums furloughing employees and heard horror stories of cruelly executed mass layoffs; I had one of the few safe roles in the arts left in the entire country. Working for the largest funder of the arts in Austin, I witnessed the drop in funding from 3000 miles up. Although I was safe, it was devastating to see so many people, and so many that I cared about, have their income taken away en masse with very few ways I could help.
while the rest of the world fell apart, I had a sense of stability that I had never previously had in my adult life.
Thriving in the midst of despair
There was a dichotomy between the quiet solitude of living alone in a new city, and the chaos of mounting infections, mounting deaths, incidents of murder by cop, and spiraling paranoia leading to an insurrection and a second impeachment that once again bore no consequence. Communities of color, who even on a good day in America are over-burdened by racist structures and inequities of this country, absorbed the greatest consequences of the pandemic which played out like a laissez-faire genocide.
While all of that was happening, I committed to having something to show for myself at the end of this.
I worked with a nutritionist to figure out some chronic issues I’d been dealing with for years. I started new exercise habits, spending countless hours walking around parks near and far. I got to know the city through its outdoors which has been healthier, safer, and cheaper than going to bar, which used to be a big part of how I experienced a new city. Once the pandemic pushed everything online, I was able to attend Chamoru lessons for the first time, and I finally have a relationship with this critical part of my cultural heritage. I spent time improving my cooking skills, inspired by foods that I missed and couldn’t find in Austin. I completed personal finance courses and planned a path to financial freedom. I even figured out a decent skincare routine.
most importantly, the pandemic has forced me to be excruciatingly selective with who I allow into my life.
Artistic growth
Until now, I haven’t had a significant amount of time to cultivate my artistic growth since undergrad. I spent fall and winter developing new bodies of work, and getting old ideas down on paper. I have a greater understanding of how my values, interests, and anxieties inform what I spend time on, and through that I was able to hone in on the answer to my obsessive question, “What is my style?”
I am a queer woman of color living in America; I’m not supposed to thrive. I’m supposed to be crushed and juiced for everything the American machine can extract from me. Physical health is an act of resistance. Mental and emotional health is an act of resistance. Financial freedom is an act of resistance. Every ounce of myself, my culture, that I get to keep, is an act of resistance.
You can’t be a butterfly if you’re still a caterpillar
While this past year has presented the opportunity to heal and learn in, there wasn’t a day that was without deep distress about decisions and policies playing out on a national level. Above all else it’s been a year of turmoil, stress, trauma, and injustice. With our new President there is some relief, but the magnitude of systemic problems will not be easily fixed. Police in America are killing on average 3 people per day. Hate crimes against Asians are at an historic high. Mass shootings are spreading like wildfire.
After everything we endured over the past year, we cannot simply welcome back the previous, untenable reality. The “new normal” cannot just mean wide-leg jeans and telework. It must mean justice. The pandemic of hate must end. White supremacy must be extinguished. There must be time for self care, and that self care needs to be sustainable, not novel. All people must have room to thrive.
How can we all contribute to a cultural metamorphosis?
Practice self care - Keep what you learned this past year. Those things we never had time for before, we need to dedicate time for them and protect it. Putting it on a calendar is one thing, making sure social obligations don’t encroach is another.
Be a witness - Listen to the voices of marginalized people. If someone’s story doesn’t fit your experience, it doesn’t mean it’s not true. Listen, hear what they’re asking for, support change. Stay engaged and don’t let stories of police brutality, hate crimes, or other forms of injustice get buried in the 24 hour news cycle. Tuning out is a privilege. Accountability only happens when we are all paying attention.
Be an accomplice - Use your vote, use your dollar to support racial and environmental justice. Protest injustice in person, creatively, or with your money. Donate to bail bonds if you can’t attend a protest. Organize.
All that happened in 2020 was inevitable. The systems that were designed to fail chunks of our population did just that. What the world looks like on the other side — individually, nationally, globally — is in our hands.