And how I attempted to hone my self-discipline when I most needed it
Whenever a time of crisis and uncertainty hits us, we human beings choose to get through the days using one of two crutches:
- Alleviating the tension with dark (and sometimes tasteless) humor
- Thinking and believing - “It’s not going to happen to me”
Sometimes, the situation is so out of hand that we use both pitifully meaningless approaches.
Looking back, the earliest semi-dangerous situation I found myself in was way back in 2004 when a Tsunami hit the city where I lived a mere couple of miles away from the coast. Every other crisis, such as the SARS and H1N1 outbreaks, passed by, leaving me seemingly untouched, simply because I was too young to understand the seriousness, or maybe because I was in a relatively quieter part of the world, with minimal international traffic.
This time around, I find myself in the centre of the action, situated in Berlin, a densely populated city that seems quite connected to the eye of the storm around the Coronavirus. The news about the first cases of infection trickled in over a quiet weekend.
It was a relatively calm Sunday night. I was just about to turn in, when I was bombarded with news articles forwarded by friends, which immediately raised the hairs on the back of my neck, because the bold and colorful images of the virus splashed all over the front did not require me to even translate the German text. “It’s here,” I thought, with a mildly sinking feeling at the bottom of my stomach.
My first reaction was to scroll obsessively through news articles and workplace communication channels, hoping against irrational hope that the authorities had decided to shut down normal functioning of offices. Obviously, the city and my employer were not having the same absurd overreaction that I was. When Monday rolled around, I would inevitably have to leave my safe cocoon of an apartment, and brave the uncertainties of the outside world like a normal human being.
Outwardly, I reached out to my two trustworthy friends — humor and denial — for support. But the mass hysteria online was still an unavoidable trigger for my internal anxiety. So, I decided to adopt a saner attitude by simply listening to the authorities and precisely following their guidelines, hoping to keep the incessant feeling of dread under control.
I had already begun a routine of randomly washing my hands whenever I remembered. I just needed to adhere strictly to it, along with the second most important recommendation — “do not touch your face”. I challenged myself to practice these habits meticulously, summoning up all the mindfulness and self-discipline in my repertoire (which was not a lot to begin with). I resolved to put my unease to good use, and look at the situation as an opportunity to work on my disorderly approach to life.
And so, on Monday morning, armed with Kleenex packs in the various pockets of my coat and my backpack, I ventured outside. I even wore a hat to keep my hair out of my face. I took things to an extreme (even for me) that first hour, only touching door knobs and surfaces on the subway with a protective Kleenex in the palm of my hand.
On the subway, I was hyper-aware of my surroundings. This led me to notice and cringe at how nonchalantly (or rather, normally) people were acting. A sleepy commuter rubbed his eyes vigorously after waking up from a short nap. A girl scratched her nose before turning the page of her book. A woman boarded the train wheeling in a baby in a stroller, with the baby’s bottle perched on the cup holder, open and vulnerable to all the potential droplets around. Somehow, I developed an itch at the corner of my eye that would not go away. It was almost a meditative experience, as I tried to focus on everything around me that would prevent me from reaching up to my face and relieving the itch.
I arrived at the office, and made a beeline for the bathroom, desperate to wash my hands. As I stood there, vigorously rubbing my palms against each other, I felt the tension ease away. Huh, I thought. Hand-washing seems like one of the grounding techniques one can use to cope with Coronavirus anxiety. I then proceeded to wipe my desk and screens down with disinfectant wipes secured from a sympathetic office manager.
Throughout the day, I managed to be conscious of my tiniest movements, and avoided touching my face without thoroughly washing my hands beforehand. Let’s say that it did not affect my productivity as much as it sounds like it did.
By the end of the day, I felt fairly confident and in control, convinced that I had not recklessly subjected myself or my colleagues to any health hazards. My experiment with maintaining my self-discipline for a day was successful. I gave myself a private pat on the back, but my stomach was already sinking at the thought of holding on to the meticulousness all the way back home, waking up the next day and repeating it all over again.
I have now completed the second day of this self-imposed mindfulness practice, only adjusting the protocol to allow myself to touch my face to my heart’s content while I’m at home (does it make any sense?). The dreamy, head-in-the-clouds side of me is still latent somewhere inside my head, hoping to come out and relax one day. But until then, the sensible disciplinarian has taken over, and she will hopefully stay in control long enough until this virus is defeated. 🤞
Note: In hindsight, this post seems to sorely lack perspective, given the number of quarantines, hospitalizations, lives lost, and the tireless service of healthcare workers. But, unfortunately, anxiety lacks perspective. I hope this post is read in the spirit it was written in — it was an attempt at managing one’s small corner of the world when one feels control slipping away.
