Day 272 of Isolation

As I’m writing, it’s the nine-month anniversary of the last day of pre-pandemic school, March 13th, the day where I remember thinking I was being overdramatic to hug a few of my friends. Our lives have been altered for long enough to birth a whole new version of ourselves, and, through all the sobbing sessions and blinding Zoom meetings and aching absences of fun, we’ve hopefully become stronger. 2020 is blessedly almost over, but this virus won’t disappear when the New Year’s orb drops (alone in Times Square, without a crowd to watch it) at the start of 2021. Our faces will remain masked and our hugs will remain virtual, but not forevermore. In the meantime, we can keep ourselves alive and be grateful that, at the very least, it isn’t the 1918 pandemic, and we live in the time of instant messaging, streaming television, and the lyrical genius that is Taylor Swift. And as cold weather in addition to the deadly virus traps us in our houses, we’re each learning even more how to define ourselves, not by external glances but on our own self-reflection.

On the rollercoaster curve of the graph of daily new cases, it’s becoming apparent that the April and July spikes, which had seemed massive at the time, were tame, rolling hills compared to the motorized, back-pressed-into-seat endeavor we’re on now, where every other second the whole structure quivers like collapse is imminent. (I’ve decided to use the aching memories of non-pandemic-safe activities as metaphors now.) Too many people didn’t stay home for Thanksgiving, and now those of us who actually follow regulations are paying the price. My state is one of the worst, and I’m annoyed on the behalf of my rural peers who vent online about their virus-ignoring families. As some of my friends retreat into complete isolation to prepare for holiday visits of vulnerable family members, the rising case numbers in the counties from which other friends visit make me operate under the sometimes-awkward assumption that anyone I see does, in fact, have the virus, since, as much as I love some of my friends, they’re not all the best at social distancing.

There is a sun shining in the distance, though, coming in the form of gleaming syringes in refrigerated trucks - the Pfizer vaccine was approved, began shipping yesterday, and vaccinations of front-line healthcare workers should begin this week. I’m keeping my expectations low, since 2020 continues to push every symbol of hope and normalcy further into the future, like I’m chasing the end of a rainbow. That’s objectively not true, luckily, and even Dr. Fauci said recently that the end was near. For me, senior year is the new finish line, when I pray I’ll be able to attend school normally with all the friends I’ve fought to make, and play sports and ride buses and have sleepovers, a year that will be the new best of my life if any portion of it is virus-free. I’m cautiously expecting to be vaccinated by the start of my next school year, but either way, it helps for me to picture my future self at a concert, smiling at my friends from inches away, looking back on that weird 18-ish months of our lives when the world survived a pandemic. Even if the vaccine takes longer than expected, this form of life will eventually be in the past, and that’s keeping me going for now.

At my school, the semester has sputtered to an end like a failed model rocket. I recently finished a paper, my last assignment, and it had gotten the point where I would write half a sentence, then take a twenty-minute break before I got into the right headspace to simply write all of it. The struggle to complete that one final push might symbolize my subconscious reluctance to give up the constant schoolwork and the purpose with which it imbues my life, but it could also just mean that I’m getting lazy. Regardless, final assessments are over, and what lies ahead is a month of break, something that feels too good to be true, a break from the Zoom classes that have been keeping me inside all day. I’m excited for the joy that wrapping presents, making random crafts, and baking in all my free time will once again bring; at this point, anything to get away from the grind of countless hours in front of the computer will be a welcome escape.

On kind of a side note, a check-in on how students are doing: short answer, it wildly varies. It’s incredibly challenging for a school, especially mine, to manage standards of work for a student body whose mental state in this pandemic ranges from “mildly not okay” to “completely unable to do work”, but if teachers at institutions like mine err on the side of kindness and sympathy, the elevated level of stress that’s driving many people I know to pull all-nighters, stay in bed all day, or identify with badly-edited memes about struggling will release us from our position, shaking within its iron grip. On Facebook, there have been debates and polls about whether it’s okay to expect the same level of achievement out of us during online learning, and the overwhelming response from my peers was “yes, but only for myself.” We’re putting ourselves under such tremendous pressure, and we’re willing to suffer for perfection while hoping that others aren’t hurting themselves in the same way.

I find comfort in realizing that the same sentiment of loneliness is echoed by every person I talk to. Junior or senior, outgoing or hermit, no matter how cool and unreachable I thought any given person was, we’re all sitting in our separate homes across the state and missing each other. We all know the hollowness that fills the stomach when seeing a picture from last year, a visual of the ease with which we used to hug and nudge each other, safe in the warmth of a crowd. The benefit of being alone, though, is that whatever self we were used to inhabiting has been shed for most of our waking hours. A lot of us are now coming to realize which parts of ourselves were truly important and truly us, and which parts were solely for the perception of others. Without the warmth of a group, the wind is cold, but the nagging questions of who you really are can finally be answered. I’m not going to pretend that being alone doesn’t suck, because it does, but if we’re going to be alone, at least we’re learning who we really are.

XOXO, Quaranteen