Beyond directly responding to constituents and working with them through their concerns, this week I was also tasked with taking notes on the White House task force and their daily briefings. In this I spent roughly an hour and a half daily watching representatives from the White House, from the President on down, discuss developments concerning the nation’s responses to the COVID-19 pandemic. And while I was a bit bemused in hearing some of the theatrics and heated back and forth between reporters and White House representatives, I was more bemused by taking notes.
It reminded me of my classes, which all have moved online in response to the coronavirus. Initially detailing each member present, I took bullet note after bullet note on all that was said. Though unlike my classes, where we sometimes take notes on abstract and nebulous concepts I’m unsure I’ll ever be able to apply to real life, the notes I took this week were directly applicable to the world around me. Despite the inherent politics involved, I felt more secure knowing the notes I was taking actually meant something. That like the notes I was taking on the Governor’s press conferences, the information would be used for others’ education. That they could be relied upon for others’ work. Taking notes for over a decade now as a function of my own education, it felt terrific to take notes for a purpose. To feel like all my practice meant something. That all of the articles, books, poems, etc. I’ve gone through and written upon could have prepared me for something beyond a grade. Still working at home with little else changed, that slight bemusing thought made my week. Working to recognize and accept the new reality promoted by COVID-19, I’ve been trying to take solace in the little things of life that bemuse me or give me joy – especially as it pertains to the work I do. As I miss my co-workers, college friends, significant other and Alaska friends, I think it’s important to highlight the little things that make one smile. With that and faith that, in the end, things will be okay, I believe one may leave this pandemic just as okay as one entered it. Until then, I’m going to try and enjoy the knowledge that all of the notes I took for other things allowed me to take quality notes on the White House task force and Governor’s press conferences.
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One of the things I feel like gets taken most for granted within any office is the ease of communication. Beyond an Instant Message or scrolling email thread, your coworkers are never far away. In the Senate, they’re often just around the corner.
When one needs a second pair of eyes on a document, has a question in mind, or wishes to collaborate on a piece of work, it’s never hard to find a person to help. Functioning as a team, we’re easily able to support our fellow Alaskans by virtue of our close contact. With it we are able to share out information faster, hold the same line in responding to constituents and interested parties, and best connect available resources to the constituents who need them. Unsurprisingly, our entire working environment has changed due to the coronavirus outbreak. Now, texting takes the place of talking. Talking points are discussed and centralized in shared working platforms over quick conversations. And weekly calls represent the only face time I would normally get daily from all of the co-workers I have grown to love. Though still a part of a team, things can feel quite alien. Working in isolation has also slowed down the pace of work, at least for me. I still feel productive, though like many other people I’ve talked to, communication difficulties and changed working environments have stunted general productivity. Everyone I know seems to be working doubly hard to maintain a sense of normalcy, though the unpredictable nature of everything facing us ultimately seems to require a reconciliation between the ideal and the pragmatic. The unknown consistently seems to come between the work one would like to do, and the work one is able to do. As everyone trudges on, we continue to work our hardest to serve our fellow Alaskans. It isn’t lost on us how many people are relying on us, now more than ever. So while our environments may feel alienating, we’re trying to be consistent. Consistent in the quality of our work, the effort we put to it, and the outcomes we’re able to provide for our constituents. While so little remains in our individual control, collectively consistency is what allows us to keep things straight amongst such a great period of chaos. Hopefully, the results help out each Alaskan in need. Alongside all of the other obvious differences between working in the D.C. office and what I lovingly refer to as my home office (aka the old work desk and footstool right next to my bedroom window at the foot of my bed), one of the things I love most about working from home is the ability to pause from my work and look up out the window. I did this often throughout the week, taking a few seconds between tasks to look up, admiring the layered blue skies of home. Watching the chickadees twitter about the birch branches outside, I could imagine my cat Shadow upstairs jealously twitching his tail, his primal instincts restricted. My candle burning on the window’s ledge, I felt settled in as I worked remotely on the laptop before me.
Like the past two weeks, this week’s workload was relatively light. Researching, writing, and taking notes on select meetings, it was just what I hoped working from home would be. Yet I was most grateful for the chance to man the phones. Having signed up for two two-hour long slots in the morning and early afternoon, I would occasionally break from my work throughout the day to respond to the needs of my fellow Alaskans. Pausing the podcast I was listening to, I would answer their calls through the computer, taking notes in my notebook just as I would if I was in D.C. Over the course of the week I listened to a number of Alaskans voicing their concerns over COVID-19. Providing them the best information I could, I realized the Senator was right last week: we are the front lines. One constituent I heard from was so relieved to hear a voice pick up her call that she inadvertently gave a shout of relief upon my salutation to her. According to her, she spent the morning calling dozens of legislators across the state and nation, filled with questions concerning the government’s response to the coronavirus pandemic. Worried for her future and that of her husband, her calls had all been met with pre-recorded voicemail responses, all except this one. The ability to talk to someone, for her, offered just as much comfort as the answers I held for her concerning the questions she had. Over the phone, she was able to share some of the stresses that had been holding onto throughout the past few weeks. Concerns over rent. Over her husband’s job. Over paying their heating bill. There were times where she broke down, talking to me about it all. I couldn’t begin to imagine the stress she was under, the emotions building up within her as she and her husband dealt with the impacts of COVID-19 alone. The toll that would take. Yet in hearing to constituent after constituent, I understood her situation was more universal than I’d like to think. In hoping to mitigate the effects of a virus 1/20th the size of a single bacterium, individuals across our state were forced to face perilous situations. Facing an unknown future, many are uncertain with how they’ll be able to make next month’s rent. To pay their employees’ next paycheck. To safely and comfortably continue living in a state as inhospitable as ours can be. In the multipronged local, state, and federal responses to this crisis, I recognize my role as a small one in responding to the needs brought forth by my fellow Alaskans. Yet I’m proud to do what I can for the Senator and his team in responding to the needs of all Alaskans burdened by this crisis. The conversations I’ve had this week have only reinforced that for me. I just pray that we’ll be able to resume normal operations soon. So much as I like the ability to look out my window and admire the scenery of home around me, I’d prefer knowing my fellow Alaskans can make rent. That we all can live our lives without fear for the unseen and the unknown. And that we may be able to move forward together, not six feet apart. Still working from home, this week saw my first small reorientation into the world as I left it. In the early half of the week I drove the family car around for the first time since I came back home. I didn’t dare roll down a window, nor exit and walk around as I drove down to Portage and back, but I still enjoyed the drive. The freedom. The control. Amidst a time of uncertainty, the familiar solo drive down the Seward highway left me whooping in joy.
On Wednesday, I felt even more connected with the world around me. In the morning, the interns and I, along with the staff assistants and certain members of the senior staff, were able to be on a conference call with the Senator. Hearing my friends and coworkers’ voices, I was grateful to hear about their safety. Their family’s safety. I was glad to hear their joviality in the face of this conflict. To hear their determination to serve as the need from each Alaskan back home grows in response to the tragedies of this pandemic left me all the more grateful for the opportunity to work alongside them. As Wednesday evening approached, my excitement again grew. Opening my bedroom door after work, I found my parents waiting for me. Having only seen them from down the hall following my flight in from Minneapolis, our contact had been nonexistent, save for any small talk across the length of the hall. To have them there before me; to finally hug them. To hold them, and tell them how much I loved them – I couldn’t have felt more connected to home. Heading with them upstairs and hugging my sister, I could see how much had changed since I left them last. The Christmas decorations yielding to the beginnings of an Easter celebration. Candles changed from pine and fir scents to those of summer – of rain and the seaside breeze. With work stations set up along the kitchen counter and the dining table, I began to see how my family was dealing with the pandemic. As much as things could be the same, they were. But for the sake of health, changes had been made. In any case I was happy to be with them. To cook my own meals and bask in the sunlight on the back deck. To not have to ask for a glass of water and for a dish to be taken up. Though some things would continue to be off for who knows how long, reconnecting on some level made things just a bit more bearable. And as the pandemic continues to worsen, anything helps. |
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Photo used under Creative Commons from Mike Juvrud