2020 — Brink of Disaster. I turn over, slowly, to sunlight…
By: Sarah Haaf
Tags: 2020, Covid 19, Journal

I turn over, slowly, to sunlight slipping in from the closed window blinds, into my very sleepy eyes. My tired eyes. My eyes; lightly crusted over with a salted dusting from bedtime tears. I take a deep breath as I contemplate forcing myself up to open those blinds. The pressure from the bedsheet seems too strong to steal myself and rise from the depths of slumber.

I turn my head to shield my face, defeated, when a thought creeps into my brain. A random yet not so random thought. I can’t help my suddenly alert mind quiet itself. I turn my head back towards the window. This time, the light confirms my awakened state. And a strange feeling comes over me. It begins as almost a calm, but also an uncomfortableness. A perplexity that colors an understanding. And I lay here in this awareness for some time, before I throw the sheet off and put my feet on the ground.

2020 has given me a spanking. An impudent, arrogant, cheeky spanking. First, Los Angeles’s Covid-19 response forced closures county wide, eventually closing both restaurants of the same restaurant group I was working at. Then it closed the restaurant I occasionally returned to work in, out of deep love for it, permanently.

We were told to get onto unemployment. A kink in the system delayed payments to me by three months. I went through my savings. I loaded up credit card debt. I ran out of money for food. I wasn’t alone in this. More than three quarters of everyone I knew were experiencing the same thing. We called one another in every way possible, holed up in our small big city apartments. Then one by one, we left.

I went to my sister’s. I was lucky. She took me in to her home, and along with the help of family, I was provided for. Every time something came up either with my car or my apartment or with bills, between the city’s assistance and my family and friends, we made it work. Not smoothly. Not elegantly, and certainly not without tears, but we made it work. For as long as we could.

And I counted my blessings. I had known people who had died from this virus. I had friends who lost loved ones, lost homes, lost jobs. Lost relationships. This virus took more from us than our jobs. It took away the feelings of dignity, of dream fulfillment, of excitement. When my beloved grandmother passed away from an ongoing illness, I thought I would break. I thought it would be the final straw. I retreated into myself.

One afternoon,I looked over journals from the previous year. I had so many plans. So many hopes. In good ole fashion LA trend, at the start of 2020 I had done a very New Year tradition and put pen to paper. I asked the universe to help me achieve these things: I asked for a dog, a new car that didn’t hurt my back (even though I loved my car and had worked hard to buy it), a fireplace, a house to move into, more time with my family, and the ability to work primarily on my new small business and my film. I had been working hard for years to develop both my skincare line and my film career. I had amazing business partners in both worlds, and I was determined not to lose these paths.

For months I pushed back against the Covid-Dominance. I followed the new business norm and became best friends with Zoom and Facetime. I was able to help keep my business going, and we finished our script. I learned that for me to survive this, I would have to get some moxie and be bold. I put myself out there, perhaps more than I had in my 20 years of practice. And I was making it. I returned to Los Angeles. I was paying rent. I was paying bills. I was able to renew my lease for another six months. I quarantined with my cousin in Tucson and went hiking in the mountains. I swam in the pool under the hot sun in the Saguaro cactus garden. And slowly, my fears subsided. I fell in love with the desert. I felt renewed returning to my Los Angeles home. I was enjoying this new norm somehow.

Then the holidays came. And our quiet, secluded Thanksgiving somehow turned into my sister’s abrupt battle with Covid-19. And I stayed with her to help her with her son and pets. And suddenly I was hit with an onslaught of bills that were unable to work with me on payments. And my credit suffered. And I had to sell my car. My apartment lease was coming up, and I was not going to be able to renew. And thus, came the tears.

Many nights of tears. Many days of struggle. Struggle of the ego, of depression, or faking strength for my sister, and of keeping myself in a state of laughter. Thank god I didn’t lose the laughter. Not completely. My family Zoom calls kept me going. I craved them like a baby craves touch. But like a newborn, I cried. I cried from discomfort and from a hunger to feel secure.

And then I wake up today, with the sunlight slipping in. And the sheet feeling like a weighted blanket. And my chest tight. And the salt in the corner of my eyes. And the random thought that I can’t quite shake.

And I realize that I have gotten everything I had asked for. Definitely not in any description that I had imagined. Definitely not while lying in this bed that doesn’t belong to me, under sheets that don’t belong to me, and with a stream of sunlight that won’t get out of my eyes. But I have gotten everything that I had asked for.

I am lying in a bed, under a sheet, in a beautiful house — that my family lives in. And my sister’s dog just ran into my room and jumped onto the bed, in our new morning tradition. And I am thinking of the errands I’ll need to do when my sister gets better, in the car my parents have given me to take over during this time. And downstairs is the fireplace I am going to light when I go down to make everyone breakfast and then take the dog on a walk. And today I have a meeting with my business partner for our skincare line, followed by a production meeting with my writing partner to organize the next stage of our film. And soon, when my sister recovers, I’ll take us hiking in the mountains of Solano County.

I am luckier than a quiet majority. I may be leaving my beloved Los Angeles for a short time here in the near future, but I’m coming to a home that is full of love and laughter. I have the support of my business partners to commit to keeping our plans going as I travel back to LA once a month while I’m away. It was not how I imagined. It’s not what I thought I was asking for. But right now, I realize, I’m not forgotten. The universe didn’t abandon me. It actually gave me everything I had asked for it to give, right on the brink of disaster.