The Community in Self-Care
By Paige Bockman
I do not see myself as a “maker.” I’m surrounded by amazing creators almost every day—my coworkers at the Marjorie Barrick Museum of Art at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas (UNLV), artists, writers, performers, photographers, filmmakers, curators, and even students—but I always feel a bit apart from them. In my little community of creatives, my greatest strength has always been my ability to focus on logistics.
Do we need to order more of this? Will it get here on time?
Will we need so-and-so for this job? Are they scheduled?
Will this fit through the museum doors?
When is this person dropping off work?
Do we have the right paperwork for that?
When is this grant due?
I see my logistical coordination and organizational skills as my greatest contribution to my community. While everyone else can dream up beautiful lyrics, thought-provoking performances, and awesome exhibitions, my job has always been to answer the question of how to make those dreams a reality.
And then the pandemic hit, and suddenly no logistical planning was enough to make anyone feel prepared for what we were going through. Suddenly I couldn’t answer any of the questions I had once prided myself on being able to answer:
What can interns do remotely?
What can STAFF do remotely?
When can we reschedule these shows?
When will the museum reopen? (And later, during multiple spikes in infection rates— Should we shut down again?)
How do we keep everyone safe?
Did that deadline get moved? Cancelled?
How can we engage with our community?
What can we do to help?
Luckily, I work with an amazing team at an amazing place, and am part of a passionate and resilient community. We figured it out; not without mistakes, and not always gracefully, but we survived and grew stronger throughout the pandemic. Though it was frustrating, no one really blamed me for not having all the answers. No one knew what was going to happen; we were all just doing our best.
But it bothered me.
I love planning, organizing, knowing. I am, in short, a total Capricorn. So when the pandemic rendered everything unknown and unknowable, I struggled with that loss of control and the inability to ‘be prepared.’ I struggled with a lot of things others also felt during that time: loneliness, anxiety, depression, anger, frustration, health issues, boredom, despair, and fear. I’ve always known that I attach a lot of my self-worth to my ability to do well at my job, but the pandemic made me feel like I was failing, and my mental health declined. As the pandemic dragged on it became clear that I couldn’t just ‘wait it out’—I needed to find new ways to find joy and self-worth outside of being ‘the one who knows things’ at work.
So I took a deep dive into self-care and exploring the things that I could do.
I took online museum courses. At first under the guise of professional development (which it still is), but eventually what I came to value most were the connections I made with other members of my field. It was validating to hear from other museum folks who were dealing with many of the same issues—shuttered galleries, budget cuts, delayed exhibitions, working remotely, and the general, heightened unknowns of working in the nonprofit sector during a worldwide catastrophe. We were all a little lost, but we were lost together; and we were all dedicated to learning more and being the best we could be for our institutions and our communities.
I read, which has always been a lifelong love of mine, but during the pandemic my reading exploded to a level of obsession I hadn’t experienced since probably high school. I delved into new sci-fi favorites by Becky Chambers and Nnedi Okorafor, and focused on expanding my world view by reading more authors of color like Rebecca Roanhorse, Rivers Solomon, and Aiden Thomas. Books became my main escape from the world, but also a connection to others. I started engaging with other book fans on social media and other online platforms, spent hours debating the merits of different writing styles, the minutiae of character development, and the importance of queer representation in media. It is peak nerdiness, and I love it. It is passion and excitement and friendships forged completely apart from any discussions of mask regulations, death tolls, and political arguments. Even now, my relationships with fellow book fans are one of my great joys in life.
Another bright spot from pandemic life was regular video calls with my two-year-old nephew Sammy. Like most toddlers, Sammy is curious and energetic and very, very, busy. The lockdown kept him cooped up inside, and I happily became an exciting window to new and interesting things. I would show him my flowers and the hummingbirds outside, and he would show me his toy cars and tell me what he ate for breakfast. We would count together, say what color things were, and make silly faces at one another. While I struggled feeling too far away from much of my Midwest-based family during the pandemic, I felt closer than ever to Sammy. The miles between us did not mean I could not have a close relationship with him. I’ve spent more time with him virtually than in person, but we still have our own special bond and I’m incredibly grateful for that. Calls with Sammy were (and still are) the highlight of my day.
There were many other self-care routines that helped buoy me through the rough waters of pandemic life—cycling, nature walks, yoga, phone calls with my grandmother, and little messages sent back and forth between friends. All of these things are activities I knew brought me joy and comfort even before the pandemic, but it was the circumstances created by COVID-19 that truly gave me permission to focus on them in a deeper way. While I couldn’t plan when a show might be rescheduled at work, when the museum might reopen, or even what reopening would look like, I could plan on doing yoga in the morning, learning about fractional gift tax law, finishing a book, or video calling with Sammy to look at hummingbirds. And I could still support those around me by checking in through video and phone calls, swapping recommendations for music and podcasts, and just letting others know I was thinking of them.
With a lot of the distractions and bustle of “normal” life quieted, I was more open to doing things just because they make me happy, where in the past I would have felt too busy. Where work was once a main priority, I suddenly felt that taking care of myself was necessary instead of indulgent. Self-care should never be seen as indulgent, and the pandemic served as a reminder that the better care I take of myself, the better care I can extend to those around me. As I get back to work at the job I love, I want to remember that it’s ok not to know every answer, and that sometimes making time for yourself is the best way to prepare for whatever comes next.
Paige Bockman is the Collections & Exhibitions Manager at UNLV’s Marjorie Barrick Museum of Art. Originally from Omaha, Nebraska, Paige holds BAs in Anthropology and Classical & Near Eastern Studies from Creighton University, and a MA in Anthropology/Archaeology from UNLV. She moved to Las Vegas in 2013 and fell in love with the desert and its people. When she’s not working, Paige enjoys reading copious amounts of science fiction/fantasy, gardening, cycling, yoga, eating pad thai, and being the “cool aunt” to her five nieces and nephews.
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