When Time Passes Its Speeding Limit

I’ve been hearing about COVID-19 for a while.

Growing up in Washington, I have friends in Seattle that have been discussing this for months. I have friends in New York who have been bracing for impact.

All of this news seemed so distant. I was sent to the ER in Austin (for an injury) during the Swine Flu, and although that was “bad,” it barely impacted most of our lives.

So even though I’ve been hearing about this virus, I left for Chicago, unconcerned.

The Mid-America Theatre Conference is one of my favorite annual academic theatre gatherings. It’s small, which opens up the possibilities to more intimate conversations and deeper exploration of topics in between sessions than some of the larger conferences. It also has a large artistic wing, and I have delighted in performing in the readings for new plays in development, and have enjoyed working with fellow artists from around the country in the Playwriting Symposium.

And this year, it was in Chicago. One day’s lunchtime walk led me to a Bernie Sanders rally. I definitely stopped by Garrett’s for popcorn, and spent an entire evening walking with friends to Connie’s for pizza (I’m a recent convert after long having practiced faithfulness to Giordano’s).

I presented a paper and a workshop, chatted with some folks with fascinating ideas about immersive theatre from around the country, and saw and hugged old friends.

I also heard conversations that were somewhat alarming:

“I brought an entire suitcase, just to fill up with toilet paper”

“Where did you find hand sanitizer?”
”Oh, we had so-and-so bring it up from Champagne. They haven’t run out yet”

“I’m learning Zoom… We’re preparing to move all courses online after spring break.”
”Really? We’re already online.”

For the most part, I clocked these conversations as odd, but also assumed that folks were all either overreacting or simply lived in larger, more coastal cities that might actually face outbreaks. I started to be a little worried about flying back to Denver on a crowded plane from Chicago, but I brushed it off. I spoke with a good friend who was flying back to NYC, and if she wasn’t concerned, why should I be?

I returned to Denver on a Monday. Tuesday, we were told that after spring break, we would all be teaching online. I figured I had the week, then, to prepare content. After teaching class in person on Thursday, I left campus, planning to spend the following day gathering and organizing the materials I’d need in order to adjust my curriculum and delivery, as well as the materials I’d need in order to continue working on my dissertation.

Friday I received an email that I would not be able to access my office in the library, or the theatre building. Campus was closed. Effective immediately.

Here in Boulder/Denver, this seemed to really sneak up on us, and to come out of nowhere. I was in the midst of three shows. Each has now been cancelled. I’m uncertain as to the status of my summer contracts. Will I have work? Will I be able to complete my fieldwork? The Immersive Design Summit didn’t delay until the Friday before I was supposed to fly out. I guess we’re playing it by ear, now. The only thing I know at this point is the sensation that all of this rushed at us much faster than time is normally allowed to move. And now artists and freelancers of all sorts are hanging in the balance, unsure of our next move.