Reflections on My Time in National Confinement

It’s hard to imagine how much the world has changed since the last time I updated this blog. (I didn’t write much in the last few months because, frankly, I was too saddened by everything going on in the world.) I went into French national confinement under the belief that it would last two weeks, that we were taking a fifteen-day break from our regularly scheduling programming.

How deeply wrong I was.

National confinement lasted from March 16 to May 11. It was not fun. I won’t sugarcoat it. Living alone was absolute hell on some days- being stuck in my room with only my thoughts as company is not as fun and relaxing as it might sound. There is not a single part of confinement that I miss, and I would not like to do it again.

I filled my days as best as I could, with walks around my neighborhood, journaling almost every day, and cleaning endless dishes. I read books and did art and listened to podcasts. I even got to return to my job, albeit over the computer. But there were days where nothing interested me, nothing excited me, and those were the worst days. And even on the days that felt really good- like my birthday, for example, when I had a huge Zoom party with a Kosher for Passover cake and a bottle of wine- I was still disheartened by the fact that I was sitting alone in my room. My extrovert brain was sad. I felt very far away for the first time since moving to France.

What I was really worried about, though, was Passover, my favorite holiday. How was I going to find Kosher for Passover food in a 1km radius of my house? There were no Kosher sections in the grocery stores in my neighborhood, and I didn’t think I could get permission to walk outside of my radius just to go to the store. And what about Seder? How could I do Seder, the traditional communal meal that has a bazillion steps and lots of yummy food, alone in my tiny room? I didn’t even have matzah! And I was not confident in myself to make it.

But Passover wasn’t that bad- I was lucky enough to get kosher for Passover groceries delivered the day the holiday started, so I had lots of food to get me through the eight days. I got to do Seder through Zoom, first with other language assistants still in France and then with my whole family very early in the morning. While being away from my family was undoubtedly horrible, it was a holiday I will certainly never forget, filled with new traditions: I made my own charoset recipe (which I made repeatedly because it was very delicious), I used fresh ginger for the marror (and after doubting that it was as potent as horseradish, discovered why it is used as a tear-jerker), and I had to make my own matzah for the first time ever, which was a hilarious fail (I am not meant to be a matzah baker). But even though my attempts were rather futile, I felt connected to the generations of Jews that made matzah in their kitchens, of Jews that prepared their Seder plates in times of uncertainty. I was- and still am- reminded of much I love my religion- there was something so calming about making my own Seder plate with the mismatched dishes from the communal kitchen, even though it felt like the world was crashing down around us.

The hardest weeks of confinement happened in the middle, at least from what I remember. The days turned into weeks and stretched on and on with no end in sight: we started with two weeks, which then turned into four, and then, in an address to the nation in the middle of April, President Macron announced that we would double our time in confinement by adding another month. I was heartbroken at first, sobbing to my mom on the phone. How could I make it through another month? I had barely hobbled through the first four weeks. I was getting bored and restless. And I didn’t like the solitude- I am a people person, and my extrovert energy was building up, despite the daily calls to my friends and family. But my only in-person human contact was the cashier at the grocery store, and it’s not exactly like he and I were best friends.

But there was one small point of hope: I knew that the day we got out of national confinement would be the best day of the year. Perhaps I had set my hopes a little too high on that one, but it was still an exciting day. Monday, May 11 was a day I clung to- it was the beam of a lighthouse on stormy waters. And it was an exhilarating day, despite how bizarre it was. I ventured outside my neighborhood for the first time in two months, taking the metro (masked, of course) to see my friends. The streets were still hauntingly quiet, made even more eerie by the dark and heavy clouds that brought a storm that night. The metro was unnervingly empty, the few people that braved the rain spread out across the car and silent beneath their masks. It was liberating to no longer need a permission slip to leave the house, but I still absentmindedly patted my pockets before reminding myself that it was no longer necessary.

Seeing Lyon in the spring was like seeing a brand-new city. The trees were lush and green, and bushes were blooming with flowers. I spent a lot of the new “de-confinement” period outdoors, reading by the river or having picnics in the park. It was not the ‘springtime in France’ I had been hoping for, but it was certainly a time in my life I will never forget. I feel like my friends and I didn’t take anything for granted anymore- we didn’t know if we would have to go back into confinement again, so we soaked up as much time out of the house as we could (safely, of course, and practicing social distancing and wearing masks).

I am not looking forward to the idea of having to do another two weeks of self-isolation when I return to France in the fall, but I have learned how to make it work, though, and hopefully this third time around (I’m currently doing my second round of self-isolation in returning to the States) will be a lot easier. And knowing that leaving self-isolation means going back to work at a place I miss very dearly will surely help pass the days.

I am stronger than I thought I was, more capable than I believed possible. Confinement brought out a version of myself that I didn’t know existed: someone who was constantly terrified, anxious, and lonely. But even while I felt all of those things, I was also brave, determined, and, above all, optimistic. I kept my head up in times of uncertainty. It was the only way to get by.

And now I am no longer afraid.