Is that a face mask hanging from your hoop earring, or are you just happy to see me?

I did something that made me feel better. I met myself in Washington Square Park for a cup of coffee. There was a jazz trio playing and lots of people sitting carefully spaced apart on benches and patches of bright green grass. I felt elated to be there with so much life around me, altered though it was.

Apparently, I’m not alone in thinking this period would be very different, productivity-wise. I thought I’d write a staggering number of blogs/articles/essays. I did write a long list of ideas for blogs. (So many people talk about hating the word “blog,” but no one’s done anything about it. Can we find a vaccine to eradicate language we don’t like?) I also thought I’d record many new episodes of the Orange Sofa Series. Five months in, nary a one, and this here is my first…messay—a messy essay. (The inner editor debates: “Will it be worthy? Should you bother reading? Should I bother writing? It’s short, so there’s that. I love publishing these writings and hearing back from people, so why haven’t I done more? I see my friends doing so much of it. Weekly for god’s sake. How do they do that?”)

I don’t feel like I can say anything new or offer insights others haven’t. But yesterday, a small phrase fell out of my mouth that surprised me and summed up my dark discomfort: I’m beginning to feel like I don’t exist. 

The remedy to that for me—what makes me feel alive—is creating. Making stuff up. There was no story there, and now there is; no music, but now a melody. I am writing new songs, which I’m ever so excited about, and doing other writing that isn’t yet ready for public consumption. So why am I beginning to feel like I don’t exist?

There are easy and obvious answers: Like everyone, I’m not in my normal life, not seeing friends, not going the places I used to go—many of which really don’t exist anymore. It’s not just some feeling.

I notice I’ve been diving deep into some intense focus on various periods of my past, grabbing hold of memories with both hands, wringing them out with all my might so every drop of bittersweet emotion can wash over me: my days at the UN; Mary Lee’s Corvette glory days at the Mercury Lounge and the Lakeside Lounge; touring the world like I never dreamed I’d get to; Mallorca. I thought it was something personal, that I was having a unique and puzzling experience, but then I saw an article about how the COVID period was bringing on a lot of nostalgia for people. Very logical of course when you think about it. They say it can be good for you too!

This is clearly a time where we have to work hard to make ourselves feel good. And then do it again. There’s not much accidental good fortune. So much has been taken away. We have to find ways to give to ourselves and reaffirm our existence. We may have to ask for support, repeatedly.

And at the end of all this exploring, I find once again that silliness is my great invisible friend. My trusty ally. My best travel buddy. My secret twin. So go ahead and hang your face mask from your hoop earring so you can savor that sip of coffee on a park bench. Giggle at yourself. And at that guy on the grass who maybe shouldn’t take his shirt off. Ooh look, there goes a butterfly. I think I’ll tip the jazz band then head home, ever grateful to have one.