things are really weird.

I can’t stop scrolling.

At first, last week, I wanted updates: my friends in New York. My friends in Europe. My parents. My friends who work at theme parks. My friends working on shows right now. Then classes went online. Then projects and shows I and almost everyone I know were working on were canceled. I read blogs and political thinkpieces and lots and lots of memes.

I texted some of the funniest to a friend and she (rightly) asked how stressed I was feeling, because was I deep in the internet as a means to avoid my feelings and problems?

I don’t know how to process this well. I don’t think I can wrap my mind around the scale of a global pandemic. I’m from Florida. In my head, it’s like a hurricane. This isn’t a hurricane. This is much, much worse.

But, at the same time, it’s not like we are waiting for a disaster. Houses aren’t going to get destroyed. The power won’t go out. Bombs aren’t going to drop. Some people are just going to get a bad case of the flu, except it’s not the flu, and lots of people are going to die.

That doesn’t feel real. So many of my friends are devastated because projects we were excited about working on: shows, concerts, festivals, films – are canceled. That’s experience and fun and sometimes money that we won’t get. Schools are closed and people are leaving indefinitely. It’s cutting short senior years and cancelling proms and sports seasons and separating friends. My own roommate and best friend left to go home and said, jokingly, “see you never! Don’t die!”

It is a hard reality to hold. Hard to imagine that I won’t see my friends for a long time, hard to comprehend the paradigm shift in our social and economic and political structures on a global scale that will come from this. In some ways it feels like the first twenty minutes of a disaster movie, but in real time, with no sense of how or when it will end.

There seem to be two prevalent responses: this isn’t that bad, this time is good for us; and THIS IS THE END OF THE WORLD AND THE WORST THING. Either side tends to shame the other for not taking things seriously enough or blowing it out of proportion. I read the news and get frustrated that people aren’t taking it seriously, and then feel guilty for being afraid and anxious when I read about all the good that will come from this time and how I should take advantage.

I am trying to stay away from Facebook and Twitter and even Instagram. I don’t like the gnawing feeling in my stomach. My gut? They are both overreactions. Wild optimism is not the same as hope, and preparedness and being informed is not the same as peace and security. There’s a middle ground somewhere. I don’t know where it is, exactly, I am still figuring it out. But there is a way to hold both.

Here is what I know: I am suddenly aware of how much time I really do have, that my busyness is mostly a construct. I am allowed to and perhaps more productive when I go a little slower and breathe a little deeper.

I know I am better when I have a schedule, when I get up and dressed and make my bed. When I eat real food at reasonable times and go on walks and read a book and sleep for reasonable amounts of time. This is also not my natural inclination. I will have to force myself to do some of these things.

My friends make me better. FaceTiming someone and sitting in silence while you work on separate projects is good. Admitting that you’re scared is good. Celebrating victories is good. Sending memes is good. Crying together and praying together and laughing together is good. I just need to call them.

But also, I know that this is a weird time, and it is normal to be afraid. Uncertainty is unsettling, and this is unprecedented. The headlines and the statistics and the health department updates are overwhelming. Some are calling this our generation’s WWII. This is a really big deal and might be really, really bad. We just don’t know yet. We need to listen and to pay attention and stay home and wash our hands. We cannot ignore that or disregard it. It’s irresponsible to do so. This is big and dangerous. Treat it like it is.

I have seen people be incredibly kind this week. I have seen communities show up for each other. Artists are creating on a huge scale, and a lot of it is free. People are offering time and money and resources to protect each other, a lot of them strangers. These are very good things coming out of very bad times. The goodness would not have happened without the bad. People on all sides of the hyperpolarized political spectrum would still be yelling about their candidates, but instead we all pretty much agree that this is a bigger deal (that said, please vote). We are setting things aside to fight for the common good and bring each other to hope. The internet, if you avoid the news and the panic, is a delightful place to be now. Social media is finally living up to its name. We are having fun.

And we are also all at least a little bit afraid.

I lived in West Africa during the Ebola outbreak. I know what the transition to online school feels like, I know how it feels to wonder if people are going to be okay. I spent last week in a place that felt really far away from all this, with people who know and love me really well. And now I am alone in my apartment, and Disney World is closed, and the news is really scary. That is all true. I spent several hours praying today, I cried because I was sad and anxious, I laughed with a dear friend, I sat here and wrote this, a blog post that I will publish for the first time in a year. That is all true, too.

I’m listening to the voices that say we are allowed to use this time to process. I’m listening to a lot of podcasts because I’m realizing I miss people’s voices. I made a playlist that opens with REM’s It’s the End of the World as We Know It and ends with Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus. That’s what I’m carrying into these weeks.

I am choosing to believe there is something beautiful about that. About feeling profound sadness and profound joy, about being beyond anxious but choosing hope. Being kind when it is easy to be defensive. Seeking good and true things in the face of overwhelming uncertainty.

These are weird times. Let them be weird. Also, wash your hands.