The Coronavirus Diaries: The Beginning of the End
A compass painted along the lakefront near the Ouchy neighborhood of Lausanne, Switzerland. May 2, 2020.
Eight weeks ago, on March 2, 2020, I started the coronavirus diaries. I wanted to document the happenings, thoughts, and impressions I had during the coronavirus pandemic.
At the diaries’ initiation, everything had begun to happen so quickly that I knew I would never remember what happened, when it happened, what I thought, or how I felt if I didn’t start taking notes. I wanted to remember because I wanted to look back on the event to better understand how we remember and how we forget and to better grasp how humans confronted the first major pandemic in our lifetimes.
I’ve succeeded in preserving the timeline for my reference, as I’ve already cross-checked past diary entries to recall when an event took place. Whether I’ve succeeded in creating a log that will better help us understand the human reaction to the COVID-19 pandemic, only more time and perspective will show.
To begin from the beginning, click here. You can review all entries in the coronavirus diaries via this link.
Monday, April 27, 2020
Today begins the deconfinement period in Switzerland, with the first reopenings underway: hair salons, florists, and hardware stores. (I still have not made a hair appointment.)
I wonder if deconfinement will happen as rapidly as confinement.
The weather predicts a gloomy and rainy week; I hope this slows reentry and moderates overweening excitement for the first returns to normalcy. I don’t want to return straight into lockdown due to an increase in cases.
A stormy evening on Lake Geneva. Lausanne, Switzerland. May 2, 2020.
After a weekend away from social and news media to escape the depressing updates mixed with negativity and drama, I launch an effort on my personal Twitter and LinkedIn accounts to promote companies and people I know who do amazing work. A huge gesture that will change thousands of lives? No. However, I feel better spending my energy supporting people and focusing on the positive.
My day consists of meetings for nine hours, peppered with brief pauses for solo work. On my calls with contacts in the central part of the United States, I sense the same levels of frustration and despair we had in Europe two weeks ago.
Tuesday, April 28, 2020
Arnaud has mentioned the cleaning service a few times, and I sense that he would like to have them back on the schedule. (In reading this draft before publication, he tells me he didn’t intend to drop hints.) I concede. He greenlights the service to return next Wednesday. I feel slightly anxious about bringing someone other than Arnaud and myself into the apartment.
A stormy evening along the Lake Geneva lakefront in Lausanne, Switzerland. May 2, 2020.
I hear that Houston plans to reopen restaurants at a reduced capacity on Friday, in addition to other types of businesses and activities. To me, this feels absurd and reckless. The curve hasn’t yet flattened in the Houston area, statistics say.
Wednesday, April 29, 2020
I make the requested changes to my essay about the coronavirus diary for my alumni magazine and submit the revised version to the editor.
Arnaud and I have managed well on working together at home with only one office these past two months. When one of us has a call, the other moves to another space—typically the dining-room table. Of course, if this somehow turned into a permanent situation, we’d need separate workspaces or a more workably arranged home-office setup.
Partly, we’d need separate offices or a different setup to better facilitate having calls without needing to relocate. And partly, we’d need separate offices to delineate focus time from social time. When you can close a door, you can more easily signal that you’ve entered focus mode and can brook no distractions.
A rustic blue door and poppies along a residential street in Lausanne, Switzerland. May 2, 2020.
Thursday, April 30, 2020
I get a message from the banker I’d worked with for my Payroll Protection Program loan about the difficulties he’s having in getting the second round of companies funded compared to the first. He implies that he’s glad I got in on the first round.
As I haven’t received any sort of note or confirmation, I don’t know what he means. However, I check the FrogDog checking account and see that funds have appeared in the amount requested. I assume this is the loan funding.
I haven’t received any information as to what happens now with the loan payments or documentation, so I’ll need to e-mail the banker for next steps.
Friday, May 1, 2020
Several times today, contacts with whom I’ve corresponded about marketing possibilities tell me they have no budgets.
A backyard garden and sculpture in Lausanne, Switzerland, on a stormy spring day. May 2, 2020.
Arnaud says he feels accumulated stress from the crisis’s unrelenting uncertainty. I’ve worked hard to try to live with the uncertainty in the past week, reminding myself that even when things feel certain, nothing is ever certain. This reminder works better to calm me in some moments than in others.
On our grocery run, we notice that roads and sidewalks have returned nearly to precrisis-traffic levels.
I get an e-mail from someone in my Lausanne book club asking me to partner with her to host an upcoming month’s club meeting. The organizer had suggested we buddy up this year. As a newcomer who doesn’t sense herself quite incorporated into the group, I’d e-mailed to say that she could pair me up with anyone who needs someone. Receiving this other member’s e-mail makes me feel as though I didn’t get picked last for a dodgeball team in P.E. class.
Saturday, May 2, 2020
On my walk, I realize how much I’d really, really like to have a friend join me for a walk. Also, I start to realize that I’d really enjoy having a trip to somewhere planned, even if in the distant future.
A side garden on a residential street in Lausanne, Switzerland. March 2, 2020.
Did the predominant dialogue of deconfinement timelines and the gradual unfurling of opening dates unleash these first glimmerings of feeling a bit confined?
I have a group chat with a group of friends in Houston (and one in Canada). Everyone has weathered the COVID-19 storm reasonably well so far. I ask the group for observations, whether of self or society, and hear that most of them feel only inconvenienced by a sudden change of workplace (office to home); overall, they haven’t yet felt too stressed by the crisis situation or the stay-at-home recommendations.
Arnaud and I talk with my brother and sister-in-law in the evening (the niece and nephew don’t have much interest in a Teams meeting). They decided to spend the weekend at their house in Galveston and report beaches and public areas packed with people. Texas opened the beaches on May 1.
Each late spring, Swiss farmers take their cows by foot into the mountains to graze. They come back down in the fall during a big festival. The spring trip upward does not draw crowds; Arnaud caught the cattle drive by surprise on his Saturday morning long bike ride. Note the large traditional cowbells and, if you look closely, the farmer in a traditional jacket at left. May 2, 2020.
Sunday, May 3, 2020
I hear and read more stories about parties and group gatherings in Texas after the state reopened, including one report that someone’s apartment building had a tenant barbecue in the outdoor common areas to celebrate.
Based on conversations I’ve had over the course of the week, the tone across Europe and the United States has shifted from agreeing that the stay-at-home requirements make sense to feeling constrained by rules and regulations that they now perceive as overly strict.
I can understand the logic behind this attitude in areas where the curve of infections and deaths has shifted downward far more than I can in areas—as in most of the United States—where it continues to increase.
However, rational and logical or otherwise, thoughts are infectious. And unlike diseases, they don’t need to make sense to spread.
A residential street in Lausanne, Switzerland. May 2, 2020.
The Beginning of the End
I don’t believe that the story of the COVID-19 crisis has ended. However, I sense that the value of daily notes and weekly updates has run its course; any further entries to the coronavirus diary will come in the form of postscript updates on a topic or a specific event.
I’ve valued keeping this diary, and I’ve valued sharing it with my readers, and I’ve valued the comments and the support I’ve received as we’ve gone through it together. (Thank you!)
This diary counts as my eighth and final consecutive week in the series. I post it just before bedtime on May 3, 2020, in Lausanne, Switzerland.
Stay safe, everyone. And keep washing your hands.
P.S.—For the other entries in the coronavirus diary and other insights and experiences through COVID-19, you can read through my diaries and essays about the coronavirus crisis here.