We Don’t Know How to “Be” Without What We “Do”

It’s Sunday. However, in the current scheme of things, does that matter? One day’s blurring into the next. With each blurry day comes a swath of confused jumbled emotions that shift in seconds: One second — I’m terrified. I could get this virus. I might die. Is my will in order?; the next — just hang on. Everything’s fine. Be grateful for health, shelter — you’ll get through this.

It should go without saying, these emotions fly like the fast and furious. And, what makes the time sludge exceptionally sludgy, is that everything’s suffocating beneath a heavy blanket of uncertainty. I’m agitated most moments of most days. Varying-degrees of anxiety are ever-present.

I’ve identified another previously unknown culprit of the anxiety. Aside from not knowing when or how the Covid-19 crisis ends, is an unsettling sensation: without what I “do,” I have no clue how to “be.” Decades of repetitive social, emotional, cultural and logistical training have shaped who I am, as a result of what I do. How I measure my worth. How I’ve produced. How I’ve formed my identity. Ultimately, how I spend my time equals who I think I am. Every detail about my life, and how I see who I am, has been constructed by the way I applied time. When I knew what to do, I knew how to be.

Back in the old days, say only a few months ago, when you’d go to a party or networking event, the very first question most strangers ask is, “So, what do you do?” Our answers gave us reason. They gave us purpose. They not only defined the outlines of who we thought we were, but also solidified the very parameters for how we applied our time. We intrinsically knew, without thought, that doing equaled our being.

Apart from financial worries which are very real, and unsettled job concerns, without a next thing to do, and a next thing to do after that, there’s a huge void of blank space without attached expectation. What we need to “do” directly dictates how — and more specifically — who — we are to “be.”

These surreal days, this whole blank space empty slate of time makes me uncomfortable as fu*k. I feel bored, uneasy, rudderless, and insecure. I feel, well, ugly. I look in the mirror and I barely recognize who’s reflected back. Tired vacant eyes, little glow or essence, I don’t really see who I am. It’s not that I’ve totally wasted this time. It’s not that I feel completely hopeless, either. I’ve had moments of inspiration, productivity, or purpose. But aside from the many obvious sad or overwhelming circumstantial changes, life’s nowhere near the same. I’m nowhere near the same. Why is that?

Think about it. How do you feel about yourself these days? Aside from grown out roots, unshaved legs, or extra pounds, who do you see when you look in the mirror? Can you see yourself at all? Without the cloak of busy, do you know who you are? Do you know how to be without what you do?

Only a few months ago, a popular answer whenever I asked friends how they were ‘doing’ was, “Fine, I’m just soooo busy.” Many wore that response as a social-overwhelm war cry. People pined, or so they thought, for a calendar less filled. They craved the illusion of empty time. Now that it’s here, many are unsettled. Empty calendars invoke dread, disorientation, and anxiety. The illusion is real, yet so is the evidence: busy was an all-too-convenient security blanket. It defined who we were. Busy was the cloak we hid behind.

I marvel at how much I once did in a single day. What the hell happened? Where did the highly-functioning, productive, quick-on-her-feet woman disappear to? I envy how I once blindly hid behind what I did with my time. That’s not to say what we now do, what we’re only able to do, is an open invitation to berate yourself, beat yourself up, or judge the way you’re currently using time. These are inconceivably messed up conditions for which the time was given. There’s a whole lot of complication and emotion and grief and uncertainty that go along with the circumstances for which we’re having to find an entirely new way.

I will say, don’t waste a single second on social media envy over how others’ project the time they’re spending. Whatever’s publicly shared may merely be showcased illusions they’re trying to sort out or cling to. If baking fabulous cakes, learning how to fold elaborate origami cranes, or sewing a quilt is what they feel they need to “do” to get through this, good for them.

Most days my doing list is rather small. Get out of pajamas. Maybe shower. Eat something. Read. Maybe walk. Cruise Facebook. Wait until 5 p.m. to break out the wine. Continue watching Ally McBeal on Hulu. My time’s spent trying to navigate through a strange confusing in-between world; hours are engaged refereeing strong feelings of discomfort between my doing and my being. Some days I get a few substantial things done, and maybe the irony here can be spotted: the very fact I’m writing this article gives me something to “do.”

To deal with such unfamiliar tension and discomfort, I ask myself, and rhetorically ask you, instead of wondering what’s next for what you should do, how about looking deeper into the question, of how eventually, you want to be?

Janna Lopez lives in Portland, Oregon, and is the author of “Me, My Selfie & Eye — a midlife conversation about lost identity, grief, and seeing who you are.” www.jannalopez.com