A year into the pandemic, I'm still stressed

In one of my earliest memories I was sharing a page of my writing with my mother. It was nothing more than a piece of newsprint with a smattering of l's and o's, but she told me to keep it up. Little did I know that 35 years later I'd be a small town journalist working amid a pandemic.

The road to becoming a writer is strange. For me it began with an innate interest in hearing other people's stories paired with the desire to imbue those stories with life by placing them on the page.

As a child I dabbled in short stories and poetry, but I always kept them secret. I guarded my work as if it was as private as a diary, never intended for another.

College forced me to get serious about writing, and get comfortable with criticism. I studied mostly anthropology and learned to write drab, yet descriptive site reports, colorful ethnographies and fine-tuned scientific analyses. It wasn't easy, but being a good writer takes far more work than I'd ever imagined.

Later on, in my master's thesis, I examined the cultural-environmental history of a Rocky Mountain landscape. A trusted advisor told me I had "found my voice" in writing those 86 pages.

Up until that point, I didn't know it was missing.

After graduate school, my writing skills were dedicated to grant applications and project reports. It paid to be a good writer, but also a good storyteller. Over and over again, I described big plans for innovation in localized food systems, as well as efforts to preserve cultural histories. I learned a lot about the people who live in this area and the hopes and dreams that they have for the future.

When I came to work at the Transcript early in 2018, I was happy to offer my keen eye for proofreading. When the opportunity arose for me to start writing stories, I was ready. For nearly two years, I looked forward to writing for the Transcript. Even more I looked forward to listening to the people I interviewed, and I thoroughly enjoyed striving to produce informative yet entertaining articles each week. More than once I thought to myself, "I could get used to this."

Now cue the pandemic.

Considering the dynamic role journalists play in providing complete, accurate information to the public, the onset of the coronavirus pandemic was no time to sit things out. Instead, the Transcript staff shifted gears and offered readers regular updates, practical tips and historical perspective. We worked to keep our remaining content uplifting, yet still attentive to the unfolding situation.

For months, the people of Eddy County (and many other places) quietly watched as the case numbers stayed in the single digits. Tensions rose and interviews became difficult to navigate. It seemed that every single person had a different preference. While many opted for phone interviews, others continued on with their own sense of normal. None of us knew how or when the virus might hit.

While I found myself super attentive to the needs of others, it became clear that not everyone did the same for me. Some even dismissed my efforts to mask up and socially distance. It was a new level of stress that none of us were used to.

In my anthropological training, I learned techniques to remain objective in high-stress situations. But even through the lens of cultural relativism, it is difficult, if not impossible, to remain objective when one's own well-being is at stake.

When it came to covering public meetings, Zoom became the new go-to tool for communication. And as I sat in the comfort of my home and listened in about important decisions, I soon witnessed a variety of repugnant rhetoric from the mouths of elected officials.

I was definitely out of my comfort zone, and eventually anxiety took over and allowed me to face the stresses that kept coming my way, but in a very reactionary way. The problem was, anxiety doesn't like to make pit stops, and it wasn't long before I was losing sleep and falling behind on each week's writing assignments.

For months I kept going, giving myself little time to recuperate from the perpetual stress. Even when I caught the virus, remote meetings and telework allowed for me to continue full steam ahead.

I had achieved autopilot, and it wasn't nearly as great as you might think. It is hard on the engine, not to mention the heart. Staying in autopilot too long - I've learned - causes me to lose sight of what is important. All I see are the tasks in front of me, and any interference is just plain annoying.

Being stuck in autopilot - and always looking to the horizon - can be an unpleasant experience. Not only for me, but for the people I care about as well. Suddenly, I am no longer listening. I am irritated, and reluctant to take care of myself. I become unlikeable, not only to others, but to myself as well. It's not a good place for anyone to be.

Sometimes in order to get out of auto-pilot, we have to reassess the stresses in our life, and make the appropriate changes. It's the only way I have learned to refocus purpose in my life so that it includes the here and now.

So yes, I am taking a moment to step back from my role at the Transcript. Before I do so, I want to share something with Transcript readers. You have prompted a realization about who I am- I am a writer. It is now part of who I am and how people see me.

Whatever might be ahead in the future, you can be sure I'll be writing.