Those Left Behind: Navigating Going Back To Normal
In the early weeks of the pandemic, I predicted that one of the biggest hurdles out of this ‘brave new world’ would be straddling the divide between those who were largely unaffected by the sudden changes thrown at them and those who felt a fundamental shift to their status quo. While everyone had experienced change on some level (the world itself would soon look entirely different), there is no denying that the onset of COVID-19 and its many lock-downs affected people to different degrees. The common analogy of “being in the same boat” was quickly dismantled and replaced with: “same storm, yes, but very, very different boats.” Despite going through many life changes at the time, I never thought I would be in the latter group — the group that would struggle with going back to normal. I had always assumed I would have no problem bouncing back when the time came. Yet, here we are. With vaccine rates high (in Canada anyway), economies needing rebounds, and the months and years passing, the time has indeed come — or so various governments decree. And I feel nowhere ready.
In some comment sections on TikTok or YouTube, I would be called what’s commonly referred to as a “sheep”; one who follows directions willingly, without question or challenge. And perhaps that’s true on some level. I haven’t given it too much thought. But I also think a lot of it comes down to being a basic survival instinct. As change was thrown at us on a nearly hourly basis in March of 2020, many had to learn to adapt quickly. And as new routines set in (“Keep 6 feet apart, wear your mask, stay within your household bubble!”), I found myself adapting to the new normal and accepting it as a reality for the foreseeable future. I read the articles that pointed out in grave detail that in the history of pandemics, not one had lasted less than two years. While that terrified me, it also mentally prepared me to live a certain way for a year or more.
“The restrictions became my safety blanket”
I lived alone, was far from family, had lost my job, and was already in the throes of a pretty heavy depression that would soon spiral and get worse. I was part of a certain group that was vulnerable to the dark mental effects that lock-downs caused. Yet, at the same time, the restrictions became my safety blanket and comfort. Knowing that the world had to abide by certain safety measures evened out the playing field in a way, and as I struggled with losing myself, finding myself, and losing myself again, there was a comfort in knowing that others were experiencing the same loss of purpose, extreme boredom, and lethargy that I was.
But as the months went on, turning into a year and then some, I found myself growing and changing within those parameters. I had let go of identities and lifestyles I had clung to prior to 2020 and was accepting the fresh possibilities of what my future held. As I worked at clumsily managing my depression through medication and therapy, I became less interested in the hustle lifestyle I had excelled at prior to the world being flipped upside down. As an actor, I had no interest in pursuing opportunities, playing nice with agents and casting directors, or trying to sell myself and my talents. The world had changed. I had changed. And all of it had awakened me to what wasn’t working beforehand. The time alone in the pandemic had stripped me down the bare essentials of what was important to me — taking care of myself in every way possible and connecting with loved ones. Period. That mentality, when fully embraced, is difficult to then take with you when it’s time to assimilate back into the hustle and grind of a post-pandemic world.
As things have become safer and restrictions have eased or, in some cases, disappeared entirely, people are thrilled to be able to experience that which they’ve missed for a year and a half. And so they should be. It’s been a time, to say the least. Go see that movie, have brunch with a friend, get tickets to that Broadway show. The world has been deprived of joyous activity for long enough. I want to say all of that. But I haven’t been able to bring myself to do it just yet; not to those around me, and not to myself. I feel radically changed on a deep level. The person I was in 2019 feels far, far away now. And the idea of going back to the routines, places, and things I did before feels intensely uncomfortable to me, like fitting into clothes you’ve outgrown. I struggle to understand those who, the day that restrictions eased, were able to go back to where they left off, as though their lives had simply been on pause for 18 months. I don’t judge. Not at all. If anything, I envy their ability to embrace life on the other side of this. The idea of that seems utterly foreign to me.
I was on pause. For awhile. And then I lost my spot and had to start from scratch with a new story.
It’s a trauma response, I know. And one that I’ll have to work through day-by-day. As much as I am feeling an intense pull to staying within lock-down measures, I have to applaud myself for the steps I have taken. I’ve eaten on a patio twice, been to an in-person wedding, played piano at a comedy show, traveled across provinces. Way to go, Nick! There are many out there who haven’t been able to take those steps yet. I see and respect them.
When an animal is kept in a cage for days or months, and the cage door suddenly opens, are they quick to rush out and resume their regular behaviors and routines? In some cases, yes. Others remain backed in the corner. While I can’t say I’m backed in any corner, I do have a ways to go before I can feel like I’m a part of society again and that the trauma of 18 months of solitude is truly behind me. And while social media paints a certain picture, as it always has; one that suggests that I am once again alone in my inability to feel excitement or enthusiasm for a world that’s back to normal, I like to believe — I hope—that I’m not.
“The celebrations that kicked off the Roaring 20s began while The Spanish Flu was still on its way out and so too is the case with our Roaring 20s.”
Along with the articles that warned of the timelines ahead, I also read many pieces that discussed how pandemics usually end. From a New York Times article, published in May of 2020, historians suggest that there are typically two types of endings: a scientific ending — where an illness loses its pandemic or endemic status, and a social one — where the people move on, regardless of where we are at. The celebrations that kicked off the Roaring 20s began while The Spanish Flu was still on its way out and so too is the case with our Roaring 20s. But perhaps what won’t be discussed or analyzed until the pandemic is long behind us is the divide between those who choose either ending.
I’m not sure which one I’m a part of yet. After reading this, you’d likely say it’s the former. Perhaps. I can only examine where I’m at today, from the comfort of my home, where I have become ever so familiar with myself and my surroundings.
Tomorrow may be a different story.
