Last updated on November 26, 2023
Podcast Episode 0059; Season 04, Episode 23; March 9, 2021
One year. The novel coronavirus pandemic has dragged on long enough. I’m tired of the novel coronavirus, COVID-19, pandemic. It’s not that I have big plans for the end of the pandemic. We’re not immediately taking or trip or attending a concert. It is the anxiety that accompanies basic tasks that exhausts me. I want that anxiety to go away.
Needing a Break from this Break
No matter how much you might love your partner and your children, there’s a limit to how much together time most of us can endure. A year of together time is too much. I look forward to night when everyone else is asleep. I miss being able to escape to cafes and diners, where I would sit and write or work on projects while consuming massive amounts of tea or coffee.
Susan and I both need “me time” without each other or the girls. We need a break from this never-ending break from social obligations.
Transcript (lightly edited)
Welcome to The Autistic Me Podcast. I am Christopher Scott Wyatt, speaking as The Autistic Me.
This week marks the one-year anniversary of the never-ending Spring Break staycation of 2020. The girls came home from school on Friday, March 13, 2020, and have never returned to campus. We all need a break from this experience.
Maybe that’s going to finally happen in five or six weeks. Not in a big way, but maybe there will be some small steps forward without the accompanying pandemic anxiety.
I’m a couple of days late recording this episode for a great reason. Susan and I received our first vaccination shots on Monday and Tuesday.
I might be mistaken, but I believe these were the longest times either of us has spent in a vehicle since last year.
While in line for my first shot, I even noticed that the window cling sticker suggesting our next oil change is from early 2020. Normally, we have two oil changes per year. The Subaru is still a few thousand miles shy of the recommended mileage on that sticker. According to Susan, we’ve put gas in her car twice since last April. The April tank lasted until December, and even then it wasn’t below a quarter tank.
Following our vaccinations, Susan had some soreness around the shoulder injection site. Of course, I ended up with chills, aches, and generally feeling horrible for a full day. However, one day of discomfort beats a week or more of serious illness.
The experience was surreal. Susan went to a stadium in Austin and I went to a stadium Georgetown, Texas. This wasn’t the most efficient way to handle households, obviously. Why not schedule us for the same time, at the same location?
Regardless of why we were assigned to different locations, we were both impressed.
I arrived at 9:23 a.m. and was done by 9:45 a.m. There were four tents along the winding path, each performing a step in the process. After the first two tents checked for appointments, medical insurance, and asked basic health questions, the third tent was formed by several side-by-side tents. Vehicles were guided into specific lanes based on your risk. Some cars were directed to a “30-minute observation” lane marked “high risk.” Thankfully, I was directed to the express lane.
The line was so fast that the intake interviewers walked alongside the cars and trucks. I’ve driven slower through neighborhood Christmas displays or drive-thru service at Dairy Queen. At each station another mark was added to the Subaru’s windshield.
First, they marked a 1 and a checkmark to show it was one appointment. The next team added a half circle in blue after verifying my state ID. A pink arc completed the circle when my insurance card was verified. The third tent marked something, but since it was starting to rain that smeared a bit. It might have been the risk indicator, because there was a lot attendant looking carefully and pointing to which lot I should continue driving.
After the shot I had to park in one of at least 24 aisles, each five-cars deep. It reminded me of parking at a theme park or state fair, with lot attendants guiding the cars. Except you rarely stopped creeping along. Cars moved slowly forward towards the exit. At the front of the aisle, a clinician checked to see if you felt okay. If all was well, you were given your next appointment date and time.
There were hundreds of vehicles, yet the vaccination experience lasted less than 30 minutes.
Now, we patiently wait for 28 days to receive the second shots. That doesn’t mean our lives will return to normal, but the vaccines for COVID-19 represent a milestone on the road towards normalcy.
I’m recording this experience for my own memory, for our daughters, and for people unsure of what to expect. It was fast, easy, and nothing serious. I reacted much worse to the shingles and flu vaccines. This was like a mild cold, except a lot shorter.
What does the vaccine mean to us?
Alone time. Vaccinations and the promise that life might return to something like it was before COVID-19 in the next year have me hoping for alone time.
We need alone time. Call it “me time” or whatever, but a year at home as a family reminds me that quiet time is how we introverts recharge.
Susan and I have always needed quiet time, alone. I used to go for bike rides or ice skating to get away from the house. We lived near a great county park in Pennsylvania. I often had the ice rink to myself during the day. Susan would take walks. She’d also have the house to herself when I was at work and the girls were at school.
You can be alone with people nearby, too, as long as they are strangers not seeking any interactions. Bookstores, cafes, and diners were among my favorite sanctuaries. I’d find a quiet space, away from most people, and sit with a legal pad or my computer and write. I’d drink tea or coffee, eat a pastry or slice of pie, and enjoy feeling productive.
Yes, the reason I want to be able to go places is to be… alone. The problem with that is that Susan would have both girls. She needs alone time, too. So, I would take the girls out to a carnival, a park, the bookstore, or somewhere for a few hours. That gave Susan a chance to recharge. Then, I’d go and sit somewhere alone on another day.
We can’t do that right now. I’m not sure we can for a year or two after the vaccinations, either. That’s frustrating for us.
Our work routines didn’t change significantly during the pandemic.
Susan is content as a telecommuter and online shopper. Avoiding an office lets her be more productive.
Though more socially agile than I am, she’s not a social butterfly. She doesn’t have the need or desire to walk about an office and chat up coworkers.
Susan thrives with a list of projects and tasks, left alone to complete them. Susan has telecommuted since 2012, following our move to Pennsylvania. She’s good at it, following a routine and having a separate office space.
I’ve taught fully online classes since 2016, and hybrid classes since 2007. Working online is okay, but I do prefer physical classrooms. I have done fine taking courses online. However, I find many students struggle with online classes.
Susan’s coworkers and direct reports work well without close supervision. This reflects both maturity and the personality types within an engineering-based company. Engineers, programmers, and similar experts need to intensely focus on highly detailed problems.
Students aren’t experienced, self-motivated, highly focused specialists. Not even close. In class, I remind students what we will do that day. At the close of class, we summarize the discussion. Online, these reinforcements of both soft skills and learning objectives fall short. You can only “gamify” so much before you’re giving virtual gold stars for the silliest things, such as getting points for reading the weekly announcements.
I was teaching online before the pandemic, but my students self-selected the online sections offered. For some students, online isn’t analogous to a traditional classroom. After the pandemic, I hope only those wanting to learn online are encouraged to register for online sections.
The pandemic has revealed who can and should be working or studying online and who benefits more from being in a shared physical space.
Susan and I probably should work remotely. We’re more productive and we appreciate the flexibility. Instead of logging a certain number of hours, let us earn salaries for completing tasks and projects.
We’re not social people.
I’m more social than Susan. She could be in the house alone for days. I do want some conversation. Online isn’t really a substitute for that. Still, there aren’t many people with whom I enjoy chatting.
Susan’s not eager to dine out or browse in stores. She’s not interested in social activities, sports, movies, or live performances. I miss bookstores. I miss movie theatres. Not having been to a play, concert, or ballet performance has been disappointing to me. These are shared events and social, but not interpersonal experiences.
It’s hard to explain why I like live events, but not being among so many people. A movie theatre remains superior to our television screen. Live performances possess a special energy that no recording or video stream has.
I miss some spaces, but I’m not eager to test vaccine efficacy or to tempt new variants of COVID — or whatever comes next. No thank you.
Our daughters miss being out and about. They miss being around people and they miss going places. We have to be slightly more social for the sake of the girls. Post-pandemic, we’ll likely return to swim lessons, in-person Girl Scout meetings, and visiting educational destinations.
I miss taking the girls places.
I’ll probably go back to taking the girls to local carnivals and fairs where they can run about and enjoy the experiences.
Seeing the girls happy makes us happy. That’s one reason we’re fixing up the backyard this summer. We at least need a safe, quiet, private space for breaks.
We made it through a year. We can make it through another, too. We’re still going to be cautious for many years to come. I do wonder how quickly other people will return to old routines. In a year or two, will Susan and I be among the handful of people still worried about the next pandemic wave?
Maybe we’ll never have an emotional break from pandemic anxiety. The vaccinations only reduced the anxiety, they did not cure it altogether.
At least there’s the promise of normalcy.
I am Christopher Scott Wyatt, speaking as The Autistic Me.
Thank you for listening.
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