Covid Made Me Weird
tiktok fame, bubble baths, and new shoes
Five years ago, I worked in the offices of a very successful and hilarious television show you may have heard of called Drunk History. I was lucky enough to work in the script department and had also just been cast to perform in every episode. My whole acting career I’d been typecast to play victims and tragic runaways. So, as a comedy super-fan, I was pinching myself to have landed this job. Pinching myself. I’ll never forget walking through our office’s rainbow-emitting glass doors on my first day and looking up to see a framed photo of Will Farrell, an executive producer, one of the first people on TV to make me belly laugh on my childhood sofa, and thinking, oh my god, I’m exactly where I want to be. And I’m being paid to be here.
After a couple months of rigorous, joyful pre-production, our first day of filming was rapidly approaching. I scrambled to perfect our scripts, while juggling wardrobe fittings and carving out time to practice my lines. I scheduled a hair appointment for the following Saturday in preparation for Monday, the day I was to perform in our very first scene playing opposite Colin Hanks. I was so completely focused and excited that I’d hardly had time to refresh news sites tallying rising cases of a scary new disease— one Cardi B had just named Corona Virus.
Wednesday, March 11th, my coworker barked from behind his laptop, “Tom Hanks has Corona!” And we all rushed to our computers before looking at each other like, Oh. We might not be filming on Monday, huh.
We, of course, did not film a scene with Tom Hank’s son that Monday. We didn’t film anything at all.
Like everything else on the planet, we shut down.
Tom Hanks Day came at us quick. Almost five years ago. What felt like overnight, something was bigger than all of us, bigger than big budget productions and A-Listers. And unless you were the CEO of a hand-sanitizer brand, odds are your life changed for the worse and was rattled by unprecedented fear.
A terrifying time. A catalyst for a completely new planet. A global, destabilizing turning point. And yet, it is one that we do not commemorate or mourn on its anniversary. Because… there was no real end date? Because the start date is arguably fuzzy? Those don’t seem like big enough reasons to sidestep a collective processing of a traumatic event. I wonder if it might heal us to 9/11 Tom Hanks Day.
Comedy Central ended up canceling Drunk History during lockdown, mid-season, not allowing us to return and film our scripts. Our season just never happened. I grieved my chance to perform alongside some of my favorite comedians, a life-long dream. I was completely heartbroken, and also fully aware that I was one of Covid’s very lucky ones.
To my surprise, and delight, I discovered a way to perform anyway. Weeks into lockdown, I grabbed a tripod, and filmed and edited myself doing some bits. I somehow racked up almost a hundred million views, gaining virality on Twitter, TikTok and Instagram. And the comments all begged for more; to my disbelief there were zero cyber bullies, confirming that my presence was especially welcome in countless homes. I was making millions of people laugh during a painful time, and it fed me. I remember my husband (then boyfriend) walking into our kitchen as I was framing a shot and saying, “Wow. I can see it in your face. This is fulfilling.” It was. It brought some life back into me. I was emanating a sense of purpose, mere weeks after crushing disappointment.
My videos attracted attention from celebrities, press and even became the answer to a question on a hit network gameshow— practically knocking me and my loved ones off our respective sofas when a contestant answered the question correctly. The acclamation, rave reviews from the likes of Jason Alexander, Patton Oswalt and Kim Cattrall all felt especially incredible; my Drunk History woes were relatively soothed.
But, an ache lingered.
I loved the creative power and efficiency that came with my one-woman studio, but doing it “all on my own” is also doing it alone. I did my own hair and make-up, my own set decoration, my own editing, sound-mixing, hash-tagging. Soon I started to feel that my best performances occurred when my husband was in the other room. So I began ordering him out of the house when I wanted to shoot something new, “Go for a walk or something! I don’t even wanna hear you breathing!” Isolating myself even further, bolstering my talents in solitude, inadvertently teaching my artistry that it’s okay not to make friends.
Pre-Covid, I was someone who attended fruitful in-person 12-step meetings, took lunch breaks with coworkers in sunshine to talk about our lively weekends, and risked embarrassing myself every Sunday in an intense dance class peppered with true professionals. Those daily practices morphed into something 2D, persisting in the pandemic thanks to Zoom. Thank god for Zoom! For providing lifesaving 12 step recovery in our pockets, for allowing me to go back to work in my first writers’ room pre-vaccines, and for providing classes I wanted to take.
This new infrastructure built on accessibility gifted us new opportunities! I listened to a brilliant Al-Anon speaker while I was submerged in a bubble bath, muted and video off. In that tub, I remember consuming deep wisdom and the bliss of my floating limbs thinking, Holy shit. Now this is recovery.
It’s great. It’s all great. But, five years later, sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who hasn’t “returned” to a pre-Covid life. At the height of the pandemic Jon and I became a one car family. We also became parents. So, home was suddenly always more practical. And still, in-person meetings rarely compare to the lure of a hassle-free login. Last year, I enrolled in a Masters program that, so far, has been entirely over Zoom. I meet with my therapist and program sponsor via Zoom. I take work meetings, recovery meetings, general meetings all over Zoom Zoom Zoom, allowing my plate to be fuller than ever. I’m mothering, writing a book, getting a degree, and keeping up my self care. Zoom allows me to be the productivity queen! Zoom Zoom Zoom!
But recently, I had a thought I can’t get out of my head, maybe because the five year anniversary of Tom Hanks Day is fast approaching. Listening to my professor in a Zoom course filled with classmates I’ve grown to love and admire, I suddenly realized; Huh. I never see anybody’s shoes anymore.
And the thought began to consume and depress me.
I never see anybody’s shoes. My program fellows, my professors, my reps, my coworkers. I never see their shoes.
I love people. And I love shoes. Has it really been five years? Five years of getting to know people but not really all of them? Am I the only one who still feels this way? Like I’m still hungover from a global crisis we don’t talk about anymore? Are we all a little lonelier? Or am I just a mom? Did you know that the US surgeon general equated social isolation and loneliness to smoking 15 cigarettes a day??? It can’t be good! Does anybody wanna see my shoes???
As fate would have it, the day after my epiphany, my chic mother-in-law mentioned that she was cleaning out her closet, and that she was looking to part with shoes she’d never wear again. She ended up gifting me three gorgeous pairs of vintage, well cared-for, designer shoes.
I tried on each pair, cat-walking the living room, looking past my pajama bottoms and record-breakingly long leg hair, reimagining my bottom half as something to be seen in public again.
I’m privileged to have physically and financially survived Covid. And also, Covid made me weird. Like how our grandparents hoarded beans forever in the wake of the Great Depression. I am less social now. And I’m noting how, I’ve become pretty comfy with that.
When I am given opportunities to social butterfly myself, my first thought is usually: I’ll pass. And if I do push myself to mingle, I always end up stumbling through my interactions, stunned by 3D faces, overanalyzing my speech and the placement of my stupid arms. I was definitely not always like this.
I’m committing to taking baby steps, in my new brown slingbacks. A few classmates and I are planning our first in-person coffee date with one another, after almost a year of texting, Zooming, and collaborating on assignments together. I’m looking forward to the inconvenience of leaving the house to build relationships. I’m also looking forward to not accidentally leaving myself on mute. Wish me luck.
god. so relatable !
This means so much to those of us who were socially awkward before the pandemic,and then were given the gift (or curse) of isolation. Who knows where we would be today without it.