Within three years, I’ve gone from behind the mask to beyond the mask. Last week I got on the 14th St. bus and reached into my pocket for my mask and I couldn’t find it! How did this happen? Every coat I wore had a mask in the pockets. I never left the house without one. I automatically replaced my mask when I threw a used one away. Public transportation, especially the subway, is one situation where I still wear a mask.

During these past few months, I’ve realized everyone is in different stages with their physical and emotional recovery from the pandemic. That was clear when I gave a pandemic writing prompt to the students in my memoir class at the senior center. I was moved as they read their work that recalled the rituals and restrictions of the lockdown and the overall impact on their lives.

I wrote obsessively about the pandemic as a way of soothing my anxiety. This resulted in my memoir in essays “Behind the Mask: Living Alone in the Epicenter.” (Many of these pieces were originally published in The Village Sun). At the suggestion of my publicist, I included 12 pandemic writing prompts.

Writing can be healing and I think we need a lot of emotional healing from the pandemic, even if we’ve dropped the masks. Some people are still living in fear and are depressed and traumatized, especially if they lost someone. Some people still are afraid to eat inside a restaurant. A few folks still wear a mask outside. Others have pretty much resumed their lives.

What’s changed for me since I started documenting my pandemic experiences? Three years after the lockdown, I no longer think about the pandemic 24/7. In fact, I hardly think about it at all. Much to my relief, I resumed writing about other topics.

At one point I was totally obsessed with staying safe and not getting COVID, even after I was vaccinated and boosted. Now I assume my sneezing or sniffling is from allergies or a cold. If I really want to be sure, I take a home test. I started going to parties where guests are required to take a home test before they arrive. A small price to pay for being able to socialize indoors again. My church still requires masks.

On March 26, I attended the annual meeting of the Westbeth Artists Residents Council in the community room. The majority of people were not wearing masks. The president of our board of directors addressed us, noting that the last time he spoke in this room was in March 2020 right before New York went into lockdown.

I was scared when I left that meeting three years ago. It was so early in the pandemic, we hadn’t even started masking yet. Masks soon became required in all the public areas of Westbeth. At my book launch in December 2021 in the community room, (which had been closed for over a year), everyone had to cover up. No refreshments allowed.

Today Westbeth is back to life and bursting with activity: gallery openings with wine and cheese, a concert series, puppet shows for the kids, a two-day installation dance festival coming up in April. Once again, we will have Staff Appreciation Day this spring. The first one was held in 2021 to thank our workers for protecting us during the pandemic. They did a great job.

Like everyone in New York City, and especially for those of us who stayed, my life was irrevocably changed by the pandemic. I was fearful for a year until I got the vaccination at the Javits Center. I emerged scarred, but with a new appreciation for life and for my resilience, a trait inherited from my feisty Irish mother.

I’m in good health, but I am a senior. I did not want to die, especially since I had retired right before COVID arrived. I had earned this time to enjoy myself. So I made decisions involving deprivation in order to stay safe. I missed holiday celebrations with family (which I have now resumed). I was lonely but played it safe.

I’m not sure when I slipped into my current “no more fear” lifestyle. I guess it happened gradually. Now I hate that I must wear a mask when I go for a doctor’s appointment, even though it makes total sense.