Unmask the Self Within

A global pandemic that infected millions and drastically altered all of our lifestyles turned our definitions of normalcy upside down. Every day is now a blur of daily death tolls, digital platforms, and masked faces at abnormal distances. Yet our world is now linked by this crisis that unifies us all. In the stillness that comes with waiting for a pandemic to end, we might undergo a paradigm shift as COVID-19 affords us a greater appreciation for health and well-being. It lets us reject animalistic pursuits of money, power, status, and the notion of being superior to someone else. Now more than ever, it is time to look within.

But first, let’s examine what life in the U.S was like before it led the global tally of coronavirus cases by a factor of four times greater than second-placed Spain and had more cases than the next five countries behind it combined. Contrary to the notion that life in America has achieved unparalleled prosperity thanks to sky high corporate profits and GDP, the human data tells a very different story. Suicides, mental illness, and unemployment are also at all-time or multi-decade highs. And, despite advances in modern medicine and technology, life expectancy has decreased for three consecutive years, a nearly unprecedented phenomenon for a developed country. As off-target measurements lead us off a cliff, we have been distracted from the real consequences of plagued health and neglected wellness. Focus on purely economic gains robs us of fulfillment in perverse ways, as drug companies and private insurers profit off of lost human potential and suffering.

Students at the University of Chicago sit at the top of the educational pyramid, and at the very top of the global opportunity scale on a planet with 7.8 billion people. By that measure, we are already winning. Yet our lives are still riddled with stress, anxiety, conflict, and the pursuit of some ever-elusive finish line that we cannot see but race breathlessly towards as everyone else around us feverishly chases one, too. A fear of not winning a race we aren’t even sure why we’d want to win in the first place is what propels most of our lives. So, if this is the desperate cycle we confront even though we have the most opportunity, imagine what it must be like for those who have been kicked to the curb in our society. Now more than ever, it is time for introspection.

If you find journaling by hand dreamy and unrealistic, I offer that you consider a more effortless and contemporary way to look within: create an electronic journaling space that is easily accessible across your devices. By making your journal available across regularly accessed platforms, writing becomes quick, easy and repeatable. Apple’s Notes lets you pin a note so that it appears prominently at the top of your list on the iPhone, iPad, and Mac. Or, you can download Google Docs onto your smartphone and favorite your journal on your computer’s web browser. Since our phones travel with us, they create a seamless space to jot down feelings, inspiration, or observations at any given moment. No matter how informal, these reflections can help us connect with ourselves more clearly. The value of journaling comes from engaging with it when the spark strikes, and technology can provide a handy blank canvas. A living and breathing document to consider my personal life and career path has proven highly worthwhile. It can limit mindless wandering, demystify long-term goals, and deepen our appreciation for how we use our time every day. After all, our lives are not some ever-receding date in the future: our lives are right now. As Annie Dillard once said “how we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”

As we heal from this pandemic, we can cure ourselves of other plagues, too. After all, quarantine is a place of isolation not only from a potentially deadly virus, but from the aimless and feverish racing we do without reflection. It is an invitation to restrain ourselves and curb the spread of our own toxic habits. The stillness we gain now might just clear the fog enough for us to find our own finish lines. 

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Featured image via

Why You Should Cut Your Hair During Social Isolation

The overwhelming restlessness that has been stirred up by isolation has reduced me to pure impulse. When I want to rearrange my closet, I do. When I want to snack, I do. When I binge-watch “Baby” on Netflix and watch Alice Pagani play ‘Ludovica’, who sports a chin length black bob with short bangs, and then I see my blue craft scissors, I think Fine. I’ll bite. 

“Gone Girl” gif via

My Roommate Trimming My Hair

And maybe I don’t really feel any reaction when I see my own face, prominently displayed at the top of the screen. In Zoom discussion, on FaceTime, and over Instagram, why is the temptation to constantly be checking out your own face so magnetic? I think that the more I look and my own face is reflected in the black mirror of a dark laptop screen, the more I want to change it. 

So, whatever.

I cut five inch chunks from my hair. And then, immediately call in my lovely enabling roommate to straighten the edge and uniform the length. We sit on the floor in front of my mirror, black hair forming a circle around us, and laugh. She tells me that she once cut her friend’s hair with small scissors in her high school’s bathroom. 

This is a time honored tradition. Perhaps because it feels good to do something and immediately see tangible results. Perhaps because it makes you feel like a new person, when all other modes of expressing yourself have been taken away. Perhaps it is about bodily control in an uncertain time. I say that you should go ahead and cut your hair. After all, it will grow back. And all we have is time. 

Featured image via Alice Pagani’s Instagram

The Invisibility of Pain

I have worn a wrist brace for more than two months now. I don’t know what my injury is or how to treat it. My pain has graduated from bursting out daily when I pull on my pants to only spiking if I bend my hand in certain ways.

The pain is an indicator of damage: it is my body’s way of telling me that something is breaking. The question is how to tell anyone else. When I went to see a doctor, I waited for an hour and a half for her to arrive. She finally burst into the room. As I scrambled to keep up with her brusque manner, she reprimanded me for wasting other patients’ time. She told me she would send me to get an X-Ray. At the time, I only sensed that her solution was not one I wanted, but I couldn’t tell what the objection was. Writing this now, I’d say, no, I don’t want you to send me somewhere else, I want you to tell me what is wrong and what to do. Instead, I asked if she could give me a wrist brace, “or something.” She told me to buy one at CVS, and left.

But at least I have a wrist brace: a visible marker of my damage. The flag of my injury means I can cite a visible reason for the limitations that come from my pain: I can hold up my brace when refusing to help move something (although my stubbornly agreeable personality means it’s still hard to say no). It’s my excuse, one necessary not in order to avoid responsibility, but to have others understand why I do it: my pain has put me into the kingdom of the unwell, a place separated from the world of good health. Each week, I promise to see another doctor if my wrist is doesn’t heal, but each week, I feel like it gets closer. I refuse to entertain that it might go the way of my leg pain and never heal. So I wait, donning my brace each day to show the uncertainty of my unwell status.