The other day, I FaceTimed with a dear friend: She was wearing a renaissance halo headpiece, drinking a margarita, and worried about losing her business.
Another friend hosts a nightly cooking show, complete with theme song and credits, that broadcasts to only 10 people. He and his wife do it six days a week, including on their wedding anniversary: They’re just making dinner to an audience of their parents and some friends, but, every night I tune in, and over the weeks, it’s gone from novelty to lifeline for a number of us who watch.
The other day, I found myself weeping over a saucepan of beans, thinking about Passover, and more broadly about the beauty of Jewish traditions.
“Judaism slaps,” I told the group chat, sniffling loudly to myself. I really, really meant it.
I think it feels so hard not to be vulnerable right now. We’re home, we’re bored, we’re seeking connection. And we’re getting kind of weird with it. We’re all collectively mourning in idiosyncratic ways, all collectively flying our freak flags.
In the first week of isolation, I kept comparing it to the Outback Steakhouse slogan of my millennial childhood: No rules, just right. We’re all living in an Outback Steakhouse now, I joked — a lot. My friends and I would yell it at each other, as an excuse for more wine, or another serving, or in justifying a purchase: anything we’d normally consider indulgent, but now on reflection was just a way of caring for ourselves.
My personal “no rules, just right” involved a lot of crying, a lot of listening to Steely Dan, a lot of Paddington 2. If you’re unfamiliar with the Paddington movie franchise, or Paddington in general, he’s a Peruvian bear living in London, who — spoiler alert — goes to prison in the second film. He’s perfect, it’s a perfect film. But more importantly, it is the epitome of no rules, just right. In a time of crisis, he’s unabashedly himself, offering tenderness and marmalade sandwiches to everyone he encounters. It’s radically sincere, but it’s also cool.
Saying I love you to the people we love: Who knew how good that could be? Watching an Instagram comedian draw a face on her foot and walk around for a bit: Why not? We’re all here! Everything hurts, so why not embrace who we are?
There are no rules in a pandemic. I’m not even sure if there’s an absolute right. But there is no rules, just right.
Another friend hosts a nightly cooking show, complete with theme song and credits, that broadcasts to only 10 people. He and his wife do it six days a week, including on their wedding anniversary: They’re just making dinner to an audience of their parents and some friends, but, every night I tune in, and over the weeks, it’s gone from novelty to lifeline for a number of us who watch.
The other day, I found myself weeping over a saucepan of beans, thinking about Passover, and more broadly about the beauty of Jewish traditions.
“Judaism slaps,” I told the group chat, sniffling loudly to myself. I really, really meant it.
I think it feels so hard not to be vulnerable right now. We’re home, we’re bored, we’re seeking connection. And we’re getting kind of weird with it. We’re all collectively mourning in idiosyncratic ways, all collectively flying our freak flags.
In the first week of isolation, I kept comparing it to the Outback Steakhouse slogan of my millennial childhood: No rules, just right. We’re all living in an Outback Steakhouse now, I joked — a lot. My friends and I would yell it at each other, as an excuse for more wine, or another serving, or in justifying a purchase: anything we’d normally consider indulgent, but now on reflection was just a way of caring for ourselves.
My personal “no rules, just right” involved a lot of crying, a lot of listening to Steely Dan, a lot of Paddington 2. If you’re unfamiliar with the Paddington movie franchise, or Paddington in general, he’s a Peruvian bear living in London, who — spoiler alert — goes to prison in the second film. He’s perfect, it’s a perfect film. But more importantly, it is the epitome of no rules, just right. In a time of crisis, he’s unabashedly himself, offering tenderness and marmalade sandwiches to everyone he encounters. It’s radically sincere, but it’s also cool.
Saying I love you to the people we love: Who knew how good that could be? Watching an Instagram comedian draw a face on her foot and walk around for a bit: Why not? We’re all here! Everything hurts, so why not embrace who we are?
There are no rules in a pandemic. I’m not even sure if there’s an absolute right. But there is no rules, just right.
My favorite date night in college was Outback. My order was the blue cheese side salad, a full loaf of that perfect bread, and splitting a raspberry chocolate cake slab. $15.
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