I’m not new to quarantine or feelings of isolation over the past year, but damn, it does not seem to get better over time. In August I was sent to Hawaii for 2 months and was required to do a 2 week quarantine in a hotel room there without leaving the room and without access to humanly things. I mean sure, there was instacart and grub hub for food and toiletries, but I was not prepared for 14 days of no access to laundry. Especially because I had brought my TRX and was working out everyday.

I quickly gave up on the pretense altogether. I stopped wearing underwear and I wore the same workout outfit for 2 weeks straight. It was gross! In order to build my mind mentally, I would open the balcony doors to the 80+ degree weather to workout and I would go on the balcony everyday at 11:00, the perfect moment when the sun would glide across just right, and I would slowly creep left until, by 13:00 it was gone and I was promptly cast into shade again. Now, don’t get me wrong, Hawaii was a nice place to be, but that is what I have come to learn about pretty and nice things. They are not always all that they seem. You can be in the nicest and prettiest of places, but when you feel as if you have no free will and are suffering from a mental crack inside your head, well…. then God speed.

Fast forward to May and I found myself in another two week isolation, except this time I had the liberty of exercising outdoors in Virginia. Let me tell you, I walked so much my legs could have come right off. I listened to 3 audio books in the first week walking up to 9 miles in a day. I listened to Man Enough by Justin Baldoni, Dataclysm by Christian Rudder, and City of Girls by Elizabeth Gilbert.

I lamented. I found myself in deep thought for the better part of most days. Then at the end of that and one week interacting with people, I found myself halfway across the globe, in Bahrain, back in isolation again. this time with jet lag, restless sleep, and a foreboding anxiety. When I arrived here, the country was in lockdown, it still is actually, and you can’t go anywhere or do anything even at the hotels. So here I am, back in my head, spiraling downward and outward, and stuck in my most primitive thoughts. Not even the technology is relieving it. In my glorified room, I have to call it what it is, a fancy prison room where I toss and turn and bump my head on the headboard in thought as I am overcome with large feelings that move through me at their pace, and at random.

I am looking forward to my introduction back into society, but alas, I don’t know when that will be so I’ll leave you with a starkly beautiful picture of sunset in the desert.