Mind Games
When We Went Inside
An agoraphobe’s advice on how to go out again
Since the stay-at-home orders began in the United States in mid-March, I’ve been asked the same question over and over: “What is this like for you, since you’re, you know, agoraphobic?”
Journalists ask The Question while interviewing me for stories about working from home or about creativity or about mental health. These are the only three things I am interviewed about, except when I am on a book tour or when the BBC World Service needs someone awake at 2 a.m. to say funny things about an unfolding American pop culture contretemps or sweet things about a newly dead comedian. I’m sober, so if I’m up that late, I’m probably not doing anything interesting.
Some people ask The Question in a joking way that I’ve come to recognize as a transparent cloak for their own fear. “You must love this whole thing, right?” asked one guy. He’s the middle-aged equivalent of a troubled teen boy, which is hardly uncommon. And I know he asked because he is scared, too. My short glib answer is, “Oh, this is my fucking Super Bowl.” But to answer bullshit with bullshit is generally not helpful.
I decided I’d write a thoughtful essay on agoraphobia, infused with aching lyricism and finely crafted metaphor. But honestly, after 10 weeks of…
