Three years in Rhode Island
2020: The year the entire world will never forget. The year that cut short the lives of millions of grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles, children, nephews and nieces. The year that forced many of us to find joy in stillness.
And, improbably, the year I finally fell in love with Rhode Island.
It’s no secret that I have been slow to warm to this state. When we moved to Rhode Island from Boulder, Colorado, in January 2018, I was blindsided by culture shock. Everything seemed different: the people, the food, the climate, the work etiquette.
Slowly, I settled into an uneasy stasis with a new job, a new house and new priorities. As I grew increasingly less resistant to a different way of life — one that involved a longer commute, a less gregarious workplace and a more limited circle of friends — I sensed myself changing in ways I found both pleasant and odious. On the bright side, I became a more proactive communicator, checking in with family, friends and colleagues more often and reaping the benefits. And I saw myself begin to find joy in the little things more than I ever had, like a daffodil emerging from the ground early in April or an egret flying overhead on a cloudless day. On the other hand, I could also sense myself becoming more tense and humorless — probably a result of my often tense and humorless job — and I watched the number on the scale creep up steadily as my once-daily cycling habit became more of a summer weekend affair. To me, the net gains from my time in Rhode Island were not outweighing the net losses.
But all of that changed in March 2020.
I had just returned from a week-long scuba diving trip in Cozumel, Mexico, when the first novel coronavirus cases came to Boston and New York, and much of the Northeast locked down. Two days before my flight home, state Gov. Gina Raimondo ordered all foreign travelers to quarantine for 14 days on arrival. A day later, my workplace asked all employees to stay home until further notice.
I have to admit that the first thing I felt was relief. It’s always tough to drag myself out of bed at 6 a.m. the day after returning home from vacation. Suddenly, my typical 70-minute commute shrank to 30 seconds, and I could sleep in. Not only that, but I had the freedom to wear whatever pants I wanted (leggings, obviously).
Freed from the traditional trappings of my 9-to-5 job, like fixed lunch hours, bus schedules and a dress code, I found I was more productive than ever. In the Before Times, I spent so little time at home that I let dishes and messes pile up throughout the week and spent my Saturdays cleaning it all up. But with my home as my office, I found myself baking and cleaning throughout the day while churning out article after article. After years of struggling to eke out time to visit the gym, I suddenly found it easy to follow a rigorous 8-week at-home fitness program, then another, and I became the strongest I’d ever been. Freed from the in-person hobbies I had halfheartedly taken part in, like singing in a choir and taking art and coding classes at night, I jumped into creative pursuits on my own terms and had a lot more fun: I painted with gouache and watercolor, dabbled with guitar, and committed to regular blogging.
I realized I was thriving like never before, and that filled me with massive amounts of guilt. I was at home, ably balancing work and all of the hobbies I loved, while millions of other Americans found themselves indefinitely unemployed, bankrupted and homeless. I spent my lunch hours doing leisurely pilates sessions in my garage while medical workers, mail carriers, grocery store employees and teachers were working longer hours than ever and putting their lives on the line to render essential services. I masked up, driving and walking anywhere I pleased without comment from others, in a year when my Asian American friends heard slurs hurled their way for doing the same, and in a year (like all others) when simply walking or driving somewhere as a Black American was seen as a capital offense in many law enforcers’ eyes. That guilt I carried was important: It pushed me to support businesses owned by people of color, to donate to homeless shelters and food banks, to read literature that opened my eyes to long-hidden aspects of this country’s racist past, and to understand systemic issues in my own state and advocate for change.
The pandemic taught me a beautiful, important lesson: that finding joy isn’t as complicated or expensive as I once believed. I probably derived more fulfillment from a single donation to Crossroads Rhode Island, or a single June afternoon spent reading on a blanket in the backyard with my husband and my cats, than from the entire week I spent beachside in Cozumel.
Which brings me to Rhode Island, the state I’ve struggled to love for so long.
I didn’t realize until the pandemic hit what exactly it was that kept me from developing an affinity for the Ocean State: I’d spent too much time running away from it. In 2019, for example, I took seven round-trip flights, four train trips, three out-of-state car trips and two ferries. I spent an estimated total of 58 days of the year outside of Rhode Island. That’s like being away from home every single weekend of the year…plus an additional week.
No wonder I hated Rhode Island. I’d apparently decided the place was good only for work, commuting and grocery shopping. I had decided that to have fun, I needed to cross the state line!
But in 2020, there was no running away. Throughout the spring, the virus surged in neighboring states, and Rhode Island shut its borders to visitors — even infamously pulling over New York drivers at the state line. Then, Rhode Island itself became a hot spot, and it was New York’s turn to bar us from entry. The Northeastern states’ borders opened and closed so many times that Ian and I got whiplash. We tried to plan trips to Vermont and Upstate New York, only to cancel at the last minute when their travel restrictions changed.
At first I was frustrated I couldn’t get out. But slowly I eased into the reality that we just weren’t destined to leave, and I embraced it. As the weather started warming up, Ian and I borrowed and repaired a friend’s old canoe and took it out on the nearby Narrow River. Then we took it out again. And again.
That vintage canoe introduced us to a side of Rhode Island we hadn’t seen before. The ocean gets top billing in the Ocean State — duh! — which means that its dizzying number of lakes and rivers often get forgotten. In a year when most indoor fun was off limits and everyone crowded the beaches as a result, it sure was a balm to have some of Rhode Island’s other waterways all to ourselves. Some of my happiest moments from 2020 were the ones I spent floating by lily pads, river grasses and egrets under the hot sun.
And the rest of my happiest moments happened from the seat of my bike, where I discovered even more of the state’s hidden gems — like the Sakonnet Peninsula, which is a kind of heaven on Earth for anyone who loves cycling, farm-fresh food, wild beaches, quirky art and rural charm.
Come fall — a time when I usually long to escape north to see the most stunning foliage possible — we found that Rhode Island’s autumn colors are nothing to sneeze at. The trees were particularly beautiful in the western half of the state, which we had all but ignored until now. When we finally got out to see the area, we stumbled on wildlife refuges, trails and farms aplenty.
Perhaps most key, I came to appreciate my own neighborhood on a new level. Before the pandemic, my home was little more than a crashpad. But in spring 2020, I logged many hours on the streets of my waterside neighborhood — first on daily walks that helped curb cabin fever, then on regular runs that lifted my spirits on unproductive work days. I noticed something new and wonderful each time: A cute colonial house down this dead end, a just-bloomed azalea bush on that corner. It was in doing something so unremarkable as taking a neighborhood walk that it finally hit me: New England ain’t all bad!
Funnily enough, my pandemic year unfolded much like the plot of a cheesy rom-com. I spent years chasing bliss all over the country and abroad, only to discover that true bliss was right in front of me the whole time.
Well, you know what they say: Hindsight is 2020.
