It’s been almost 40 days since I returned from Malaysia. That includes two weeks’ worth of self-quarantine and another four of social distancing. I’m not going to lie, it feels like more. Much more, in fact, as I sit in my apartment, working my way through a box of wine and watching a Netflix docuseries about a tiger zoo in Oklahoma. It’s depressing to think that I have at least as many more weeks of this ahead of me.
This is not how I wanted to spend the spring. I’m an active person. A runner. A traveler. A mouth breather. I look back on January, the month of blissful ignorance, and I am so envious of the life I was living, sitting in my apartment, working my way through a slightly more expensive box of wine and watching a Netflix docuseries about a competitive cheer team in Texas. A lot of people are mourning the loss of time in the present, but I have the unique advantage of also regretting the past. I have seen way too many obscure docuseries this year and we are barely out of Q1. Time wasted. All of it.
I know this is going to be wildly unpopular, but I’m really glad I took that trip to Southeast Asia back in February. I wouldn’t do it now, mind you, but I’m glad I did it then. Because then – a full ten weeks ago – no one really thought it was irresponsible. People were a little skeptical, but they mostly let it go, assuming that my desire to travel 3000 miles to eat noodles posed only a risk to me. And I, a person who watched the news, did not sense much risk in that at all. In fact, any segment that led with the coronavirus inevitably turned into a PSA on soap and sometimes a little dig at Chinese wildlife. I went to Thailand because I was confident in my ability to wash my hands and also because Thailand is not China. That logic was foolproof at the time.
Evidently, I was not the only one thinking that way. Everywhere I went that month, there was a steady stream of tourists right behind me. They came from all over, but the ones who stuck out the most were Scandinavian. They were fluorescent, for one thing. And they outnumbered everyone else 3:1. Their very presence put me at ease. The way I saw it, if the Swedes were still getting on a plane, then I had nothing to worry about in terms of public health or social responsibility. Every time I saw them, I took it as a good omen, sort of like when a butterfly lands on your shirt or a stork pops up in a poetry. I took comfort in watching them gather in front of the TravelLodge Bangkok check-in counter in groups of eight or more, as late as March 15, not a care on their bright white faces.
Meanwhile, back home in Helsinki, Valtteri, was watching a steady stream of CNN. Whenever we spoke, he relayed to me the daily update he received on hand washing—when to do it, how long it should take, where my thumbs are. By the second day of this, I took to calling him Mr. Handwash—admittedly the least clever of nicknames even in the age of Trump. Valtteri hated it, which is a big reason why I kept using it.
“I’m just telling you,” he complained, as though speaking to a small child. “That you need to wash your hand for thirty seconds.”
“OK, Mr. Handwash,” I teased, like a slightly older child.
“I don’t want to be Mr. Handwash!” he insisted.
“Well then stop making it your platform!” I yelled. “It’s all you talk about it.”
He sighed. “What are you up to?”
“I just went to the gym,” I answered. “I touched all the equipment. Didn’t use any of it – just wanted to put my hands on it.” Then, for effect, I touched my face. I did that on purpose but probably could have just let it happen naturally in about 10 seconds time because that’s how seriously I was taking things.
Sometimes people ask if Valtteri “lets” me travel alone. He does. I’m allowed to go wherever I want, like the grown adult I am. Coming home, however, sometimes takes some negotiating.
When I finally did touch down in Helsinki a few weeks later, still boiling about U.S. border closings that appeared to be fueled more by racism than science, I couldn’t go an hour without Valtteri asking if I had washed my hands. I didn’t see the point—I hadn’t even left the couch, let alone the room. I wasn’t eating and I hadn’t sneezed. What was I washing off? I’m not sure he knew either, but he stood over my shoulder, just the same, watching me scrub away the top layer of my skin. It was irrational and I let him know it.
“I’m not going to do it if you stand there staring at me,” I complained.
“Get under the nails,” he replied.
“You get under the nails,” I muttered under my breath, as I turned off the water. “Mr. Handwash!” I said, whipping him with a dish towel.
Fast forward to the next night, when Trump made another announcement about an even more extreme border closing. I, a person without any official status in Finland was seized by dread at the idea that my temporary home may do the same. I suggested that Valtteri marry me, knowing full well that it would do little to save me from deportation or a virus. It was irrational, but it was something. It would make me feel better, like hot water and soap on cold hands.
Three weeks later, we tied the knot in an outdoor ceremony at a parking lot next to the Microsoft building. Mr. & Mrs. Handwash – nice to meet you.
That was not the first time I ate my pre-quarantine words. In March, a local friend suggested we host a women’s networking meeting via Facebook, instead of at a bar as planned. This email came before I had left Malaysia but after Trump had made his announcement. I, perhaps unfairly, took it personally—like I was going to bring the virus home in my hand luggage and single-handedly wipe out a Nordic hipster bar three weeks after my vacation. Regardless, I could not fathom the idea of having a digital networking event for creatives who all lived in the same city. As the group creator and organizer, I wrote back:
“I respect the caution. However, I refuse to spend my downtime on conference calls. Suggest we postpone until we’re all ready to come out in the light of day.”
That middle line that didn’t age well. Just a few weeks later, I was on a video conference with that friend and about 35 other people, a digital meeting that I had convened to celebrate my nuptials. I was eating a Michelin star take out from an Asian-fusion restaurant, but it tasted a lot like crow. My friend, in her infinite grace, she did not ask how I was enjoying my down time.
Looking back, with the information that we have now and the situation as it is, I have to apologize. To Valtteri for making fun of him about soap and my friend for poo-pooing the video conference and maybe even Trump for setting off a wave of travel restrictions that probably did some good. I know I’m not alone in that. Hardly anyone took it as seriously as they should have as early as they should have. And how could we? The news was bunk—not just in the United States, but all over the world. Those Danes, arriving by the planeful in Thailand as late as mid-March all but prove that even the countries that normally have their business together, fell well short of responsible. Sweden, by the way, continues to make a point day after day.
In the weeks and months to come, I hope we learn who knew what and when—and why the system broke down all over the world. But, to some extent, that’s all moot anyway. It won’t reduce the risk. It won’t save any lives. It won’t keep us all from watching another docuseries. All we can do is be safer now. And apologize for what we did before—all those jokes about soap and toilet paper and accusing our friends and family members and neighbors of being brazen sociopaths or survivalist nutbags because their timeline differed from your own by a day or two.
Looking ahead, maybe we can be better too. Because as eager as we all are to get back to normal and stop wasting our time and washing our hands, we cannot. Not yet. A lot of us are on the same page about that—and that’s good. But some of us are not and I know there is a tendency to lash out about it, the same way some of us did when this all started. Try to remember that the people who are out and about, shouting and protesting, are, scientifically speaking, wrong—but they aren’t really the ones you should be mad at.
You should take that accountability up a notch. Blame the leaders who let us get here; blame the businesses that are pressuring for an opening, while not assuming any responsibility for safety; blame it on the system that lets people run up tens of thousands of dollars in medical debt but won’t pay them a living wage; blame it on the billionaires who are raking in record profits while insisting they can’t give their workers sick time; blame it on a whole combination of factors that have people so desperate to get back to “normal” that they would just die for it.
They’re the ones you should be screaming at. They’re the ones we should all be screaming at.
Nova, I loved your wedding post, but this one is even better! Great take on our evolving attitudes, written with your exceptional flair, snark and insight.
Thanks, and stay healthy ~
thank you! evolving day by day over here and everywhere else i guess too. uncomfortable as it is to have to eat my own words, i prefer that to being stubborn. blissful ignorance is one thing. willful ignorance is quite another.
stay safe.
Nova, As usual, you have articulated what we are all feeling so very well. Thanks for writing this. It puts the frustrations into words I find understandable. If you need Netflix suggestions, I recommend watching “Better off Ted.” Very funny and well done. Now might also be the time to take in a few Korean Dramas. Sounds crazy until you try one.
you are very welcome… it helps to know that other people feel this way too. i vacillate between aggravated and angry and sad and it all leaves me mostly confused, asking questions that no one knows the answers to. it’s going to be this way for a while, I suppose.
I will look into your recommendations. we are watching Vikings right now and i’ll tell you what, not a huge fan of the storyline, but i will stay for the eye candy! phew!
Amen, sister! Such a welcome, well-timed, snarky rant that I feel better fro having read it!
Thank you and congrats again!
xx. one day at a time. glad we got to meet before all this went down