A Nun and a Pop Star: How I’m Making it Through the Pandemic
In our new, stay-at-home lifestyle, my familiar foundations have been shaken loose, my experience of time and space radically altered, and the daily mix of anxiety, grief and tenderness makes me yearn to reconnect with far-flung friends from different eras of my life, blurring the lines between past and present.
In these uncertain days of the pandemic, I have found an unlikely pair of spiritual guides to help me through it: American Buddhist nun Pema Chödrön and Madonna. Since the lockdown began, the words of these two completely different, but very powerful personalities — a nun and a pop star — have coaxed me into a more expansive frame of mind. This eases isolation and provides the ability to exist in two places at once — my current home in Rockville, Maryland, and my former hometown, Los Angeles.
In 2017, my husband and I moved from L.A. to Maryland to help care for my mother, who needed some extra help. Doing so was a great decision. But three years later, the potent forces that attract wannabee stars to L.A. still pull me back. The city, with its extraordinary mash-up of architectural designs, relentless sun and indie movies at Laemmle Theaters, held an allure that kept me there for 20 years. But if my sadness over leaving the West Coast was only about cultural and natural attractions, D.C. can go head to head with Los Angeles. For example, by leaving drought-ridden L.A. I was ecstatic when I got drenched in my first East Coast rainstorm, even though I had just seen my fabulous new D.C. hairdresser. And before the lockdown started, I could add the free museums, the fragility of Cherry Blossoms, and Rock Creek Park to the DMV’s calling cards.
Those lifestyle elements matter, but it was the people I left behind in Southern California that caused me heartbreak. Since our move, we had taken semi-annual trips back to L.A. But now that we are all stay-at-home people, I have had to find another way to visit; and here are where the nun and the pop star come in.
Pema Chödrön outlines the practice of loving-kindness in her book The Places That Scare You, A Guide to Fearlessness in Difficult Times. “We begin by engendering loving-kindness for ourselves and then expand it at our own pace to include loved ones, friends, “neutral” persons, those who irritate us, all of the above as a group, and finally, all beings through time and space.”
I realized I could embrace Chödrön’s concept of loving-kindness by experiencing myself with everyone I care about at once — equally with those in California and Maryland. And expanding further, I can tap into my connection to people around the world, human beings on every continent facing the same fears, uncertainties, and moments of grace that I am.
But just as I have found respite in Chödrön’s philosophy, I have also turned to a more earthly source to facilitate my spiritual cross-country travels — Madonna’s song, Hollywood. Ever since I moved back east, this bouncy tune has captivated me, connecting with my former West Coast life by dancing along to it. But since adjusting to our new, distanced way of life, Madonna’s song has taken on a deeper meaning for me. I walked in Maryland on one blissfully sunny, spring afternoon, playing it over and over.
There’s something in the air in Hollywood
The sun is shining like you knew it would
You’re riding in your car in Hollywood
You got the top down and it feels so good
Listening to it, I realized it makes me feel like I am now as much in Hollywood as I am in Rockville. And while I’m extremely pleased that we moved closer to Mom, I have come to realize I might never fall out of love with Los Angeles. Because, while it’s easy enough for me to feel at home in either city, I am now 2,700 miles from people with whom I’d forged deep friendships for two decades.
But now none of us can socialize outside of our homes. Now we are all finding new ways to be close, no matter where we live. Like me, many of my friends have family members providing essential services in hospitals and elsewhere on the front lines. Together, we hold our breath hoping those we love have the immunity they need to sustain themselves. I hold each of these people close in my heart, write love notes, stay tethered.
In spite of it all, even while staying in our homes, and in between crying jags about the devastation this pandemic is causing, I am determined to welcome moments of joy. I have found that our hearts can connect in ways that make time and distance less relevant. And in our beautifully intertwined world, I can picture Pema Chödrön and Madonna on a Zoom meeting, laying down beats for their first single together. I can hardly wait for it to drop.
