Lessons I’ve Learned in Barcelona Quarantine

LifestyleTravel

May 18

I wanted to write about quarantine from the beginning, I really did, but I stopped myself—if I talk about it, I will have to face the reality that my day-to-day life is really no different than before. And if I admit that, then I really am the isolationist I’ve been pretending I am not. But here I am, day 50 something into the lockdown feeling a little calm, a little panicked, a little sad, and a lot of confusion.

Here in Barcelona, the lockdown began with a quiet hush.

The bars no longer made clinking noises or projected drunken shouts from their patrons. The inner city became the countryside, sonically speaking--little birds twittered about, the leaves on the trees came back to life, and bugs made their annoying reappearance.

Every night at 8 pm everyone comes out to their balconies to applaud the healthcare workers and perhaps each other for making it through another day without completely losing their minds.

But I also can’t be so sure that isn’t the case. Occasionally, I hear a neighbor across the way singing a chorus in a way you can understand they are at their wits end. Our other neighbors below us have a full drum set which they play in the early morning hours, and not well. I think the musician is a 7-year-old boy with a pipe dream of joining Metallica.

As far as my own sanity goes, it’s been in and out.

Many days I feel downright blissful. Watching humorous animal videos, learning how to use SEO, doing some yoga or Ass Class, baking who knows what keeps me distracted. But on days when reality deeply sinks in and I face the utter tragedies that this pandemic has caused, and also wonder how two creative freelancers are ever going to make a living again after this,

I fall down into the darkness of depression.

I want to help, but I’m unsure of how to be of service without the ability to offer financial help. I also go through waves of deep desire to say fuck it to my discretion and grace. I’ve always been a quiet person and forced myself to be in order to maintain harmony with the cacophony of life, but this lockdown has made me want to be really loud-- like really fucking loud, to sing at the tops of my lungs, scream, stomp, jump, moan, grunt, whistle, all the time. To abandon all control to the waves of unbridled human expression. But I don’t. I continue to bottle it up in a clean little, polite package and let the rage slowly seep out through my journaling or vigorous dry brushing sessions.

If I didn’t have to face my partner and roommate the next morning over oatmeal, maybe I wouldn’t be so apprehensive about allowing my vocal expression to reign free.

This has been a time for surrendering into the unknown with gravitas.

I was never particularly good with changing plans or chaos when I was younger but now I woke up to the fact that if I don’t lean into the random flow of life I will get swept away with it. I would rather be content in the bizarreness of it all than upset about things I cannot control or change.

The weather has been tempting and enjoyable. The beach is certainly calling, although we aren’t sure when it will be open to the public again. We have currently moved into Phase 0 of “reintegration” and can leave the house between the hours of 6am-10am or 8pm-11pm for “sport” or a walk. The other night, we decided to take a walk around the neighborhood during our designated time and stumbled upon a street party. “Last Dance” by Donna Summer was blasting from a balcony into an alley filled with people.

One man was leading an impromptu choreographed dance party while neighbors swung lights from their balconies and cheered. Everyone was smiling and dancing as the rain trickled down from the sky. It was captivating and beautiful and brought tears to my eyes. Maybe it was dangerous or irresponsible, but it was further evidence that we need each other. Even if we enjoy being alone more than we probably should (speaking for myself), we thrive when we know we have each other.