Isolated

“No one can live without relationship. You may withdraw into the mountains, become a monk, a sannyasi, wander off into the desert by yourself, but you are related. You cannot escape from that absolute fact. You cannot exist in isolation.” -  Jiddu Krishnamurti 

 

It is not how I expected my homecoming to go.  After almost a month of adventuring in The Cook Islands and Australia, I am in isolation.  Morning coffee with my sister, dinner and a long hug with my son and afternoon tea with my neighbour are all on hold for fourteen days.  I can't grocery shop, can't go to the pharmacy to pick up my prescriptions or take a wander through the art store to pick up the supplies I need to get the paintings that have been brewing in my head, out of my head and onto canvas.  And no therapy.  I was on twelve flights in 25 days.  I slept in twelve different beds, ten different ones on ten consecutive nights.  I have walked an uncountable number of steps.  I need therapy so very badly.

I am not sick.  There is no indication that I have Covid19 or anything else.  I did not travel in any hot spots.  Health Canada has only asked that returning travelers monitor their health for 14 days for symptoms of covid19 unless they have traveled in a high risk area.  In the interest of being prudent, my husband and I decided a few days of isolation would be in order, not for our protection but for the protection of others.  But within a couple of days of coming home, our world changed.  Toronto Public Health announced that anyone who had been outside of our borders needs to self-isolate for fourteen days.  So here I am, housebound on day five and already climbing the walls.

I realize that I am far luckier than many others in this position.  I have family, friends and neighbours to help me.  The cavalry has rallied.  Groceries appear at the front door.  Offers to run errands continue to come in text messages and phone calls and I know the offers are sincere.  Just the same, I'm struggling.  I've never been all that good at asking for help.  I guess this is my chance to work on that.  But the logistics of day-to-day living are really the least of what I am finding most difficult.  While I can be introspective and I love my time alone, I am essentially a social animal.  A high-touch social animal at that.  No touch, no hugs, no closeness feels more like no air.  I have skin hunger.  And after a month of continuous outdoor activity, I have cabin fever.  I've been trying to poke my head out for a few minutes of fresh air everyday but it is wintertime and I'm not all that good at the cold.

My sleep schedule is off.  I'm still operating on Australian time.  A long, mostly sleepless night finally yielded to a couple of hours of sleep in the early hours of this morning, ending abruptly when I woke in a state of terror, being attacked by a gang of Neo-Nazis somewhere in a foreign countryside.  I have no idea what that was about.

I've been thinking about people who live this way as a matter of routine, though not a matter of choice.  Elderly, isolated people.  People who struggle with mental health issues.  The lonely and infirm.  Will we as a society learn from our individual experiences and reach out to improve their lives when this crisis has passed?  Maybe.  I have nine more days to think about what I can do about it.