Hello from Hotel Q
Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.
Where we are: Still quarantined at the Korean National Youth Facility, outside of Seoul, South Korea
Hello from Hotel Q!
Let’s stipulate, up front: I don’t have young kids (or teenagers) living in my space. If you do, you have all my sympathy. Once upon a time, in a different century, I homeschooled our kids for several years. Those of you who are going down that path now, involuntarily, deserve combat pay.
But beyond that obvious caveat, Lee and I have realized something mildly amusing: it turns out we are possibly the most well-suited people on the planet for two weeks in a South Korean government-mandated quarantine facility. At eight nights down, seven to go, we’ve concluded that this process is a little easier for those of us who can answer yes to the following.
—Comfortable in small spaces? Check. This dorm room is spacious compared with some places we’ve stayed. We have drawers, counter space, a closet, and room to roll out a yoga mat. AND a window, with a view of azaleas popping into bloom, and deep green hills rolling into the distance. Puh-leeze. We’ve stayed in rooms that looked out onto a concrete wall. Actually, we’ve stayed in rooms with no window at all. Once, we spent three weeks in a hotel room that was so small, we had to turn sideways to get into bed. Relative to that, this is palatial.
—Have everything we need? Check. We always have everything we need. At this moment, we even have some extras, like the previously-mentioned yoga mat and a jar (er, maybe just half a jar, at this point) of Nutella.
—Prepared to go days on end with no human contact? Check. I mean, on a normal day, we usually have some human contact, in that we cross paths with other humans, but it rarely involves the exchange of words, because #language. So the fact that we literally haven’t laid eyes on another human in 8 days—well, it’s not that much of a leap.
—Willing to eat some pretty random, mediocre meals? Check. We learned a long time ago that not every meal has to be an event (it was a hard lesson to learn; five years ago, we went into this nomad life with the vacation mindset: eat all the things! That was fine when we went on a couple of big trips a year, but full time? It was making me, as my great aunt used to say, as big as the side of a house). Sometimes breakfast is just the calories you need in order to be able to get through the morning. That’s useful here, where breakfast is mostly salad from the 7-11. Perhaps not what I would choose, but it gets the job done.
—Able to spend 24/7 together, without a break? Check. We’ve been pretty much attached at the hip for the last five years anyway. See above: no other humans to talk to.
It’s interesting, actually, how glad I have been that we were able to stay in the same room. Knowing myself, and how much I enjoy being alone, I would’ve thought I’d enjoy (or at least be able to appreciate) two weeks of solitude. But when they gave us the option of one room, I was flooded with relief. All the anxiety I had built up in anticipation of this mandatory, unknown experience just evaporated, in an instant. Am I totally emotionally dependent on my husband? Yes. This is my truth.
—Accustomed to working from ‘home’? Hahaha. Check and double-check. All Lee requires is internet; on a normal day, he follows me around whatever museum/ruin/mall/park I’m exploring, using his phone to dictate blog posts, send emails, talk to clients, record his podcast, and all the rest of the things he does. For me, writing doesn’t really require consistent internet, but it does require focus. This is actually kind of perfect for that—part of my strategy for convincing myself I could cope with this was to think of it as a government-enforced writing retreat. So far, so good.
—Content with enforced idleness? This may seem contradictory (see above), but Check. I’m the woman who actually enjoys a 14-hour flight, because it means I’ll have time to watch a movie and not feel guilty about being lazy. I suffer pretty badly from over-achiever-ness, or imposter syndrome, or feeling-guilty-about-being-lazy, or first-born obsessiveness, or whatever you want to call it. Being confined to this room has taken off all the pressure of going/doing/deciding that normally fills our days, so while I am definitely trying to Get Things Done, I’m also allowing myself to enjoy the pause. As a bookworm, I’m never without entertainment (confession: there are currently 103 unread books on my Kindle), and I’ve more than doubled my television time (shock!) to two hours a day. Tomorrow is Saturday—maybe I’ll even lie around and watch a movie. Maybe.
—Have low standards for physical comfort and luxury? Check. I mean, I definitely prefer luxury, but sometimes what passes for luxury is particle-board furniture and stains on the walls. This is one of those times. On the bright side, at least we already know how wet rooms work, and we have plenty of experience with toilets that can’t handle toilet paper.
—Easily entertained? Well, yes. We are the people who think figuring out how to mail a package is a fascinating way to spend an afternoon. Our days here are punctuated by meal delivery, PA announcements, garbage pickup, and the occasional arrival of another person or two (we can see the driveway from our window). We haven’t yet translated the emergency exit sign on the door, but probably will. Because why not?
How are you finding balance during this surreal time? ARE you finding balance? Are there lessons in your past, or useful bits of who you are, that are helping you find your way now? What are your unique resiliency skills?
Take care,
Lisa
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