Nope. Just Nope.

Posted On January 13, 2022

I’m officially just over the roiling suck fest that is this pandemic life. I’m blown. 

This is me talking. I spent my young life training for these conditions growing up in the middle of nowhere.  Grocery shopping 1-2 times a month? No probs. No going out to dinner? No worries. Isolation? Mastered that by the age of 5. I basically grew up in pandemic boot camp. 

I really thought I had this down. Other than the soul crushing uncertainty, 2020 was pretty simple to navigate. One of my best friends moved back home, we scheduled lots of great hikes and outside hangouts with a limited circle of our favs, and formed closer bonds with our neighbors. We were probably more mindfully social in 2020 than we were in 2019. Then came the end of the year surge that sent us into 2021 riding a wave of personal hurdles that started to pile up on top of it all. While we stayed blissfully COVID (and illness) free, the pandemic made difficult situations even worse on every level. The mental exhaustion that had been sort of background noise that we could somewhat deny became utterly overwhelming

And now somehow we are in 2022. I’m not exactly certain how we got here. I’m realizing that much of last year is a painful blur. While nothing that transpired was exactly COVID’s fault, it added a deep venire of suck to all the unfortunate events that took place, and even cast a light tarnish on the highlights. 

There was this brief, glowing moment last month when we were all going to be fully vaccinated and boosted and finally breathe a sigh of relief. Then Omicron turned to Delta, said, “hold my beer” and suddenly my Facebook feed is full of fully vaccinated loved ones holding positive tests. There is still the relief that they, and we, when our turn comes, will likely be fine due to said vaccines, but how did it even come to this? 

There’s still no all-clear. We’re still in it – in my state deeper than we ever were before. We’re in the weird in between where attempts at normalcy  feel jarring and unsettled, or worse, like a blissful, beautiful dream that is then snuffed out by the latest numbers or the next close contact. 

And even my converted-introvert heart has started to really miss things. I miss coffee and spa dates with friends. I miss sitting in the little cafe where I used to write, letting conversations drift over me as I pondered how to frame this or that piece of work. I miss lounging in the library and listening to the genealogy workshops with more than half an ear while I should be working on PR. I miss deciding at the end of the week that I’m going to make the trek up to see my nieces or cousins in Canada. I miss concerts, festivals, fairs, and boat races. 

And I know there are a lot of people who think we should just be doing all that. Throw all these cautions to the wind, burn our masks in the street, “return to normal” and let the chips fall where they may. To me that’s like throwing all the lifeboats overboard and forcing everyone to ride the Titanic into the iceberg because you believe the ship is unsinkable. I still have too many people I care about who could be severely impacted by this virus to throw caution to the wind. Too many loved ones in the medical field and the classroom and other jobs deeply impacted by the surge of illness.

Early on in the pandemic my history buff uncle reminded me that the Spanish flu outbreak of 1918 wasn’t actually a 1 year gig. ”Why do you think the 20s were so roaring?” he said. “Everyone was so relieved to not be wearing masks after 3 years.” I accepted we were likely in this for the long haul. At least I thought I did.

Now it’s wearing on me in a way I didn’t expect. It’s wearing on the mother in me even more. I want my kid back in activities that don’t get constantly canceled, back in school if we can find the right fit, back to playdates that don’t require so much risk analysis and planning. I want him to have that giant bowling birthday party that got shut down when he turned 5 a few days after lock down. I want him to have a childhood full of happy memories of fairs, and races, and crowds and chaos. 

We talk a lot about managing expectations in this house. We’ve certainly had to do a lot of that over the last two years. But I don’t know how to manage the expectation that I could give my child a typical childhood. I know that childhood never looks like it does in the movies, but I guess I just thought my son’s childhood would look a lot different than mine. That he wouldn’t grow up isolated, surrounded by adults ,with few of the common childhood activities and only a few friends.  

I will say this though, that circle of grown ups surrounding him have been incredible. They’ve each formed their own bonds with him and taught him so much during all this. And the friends he’s stayed close with are likely to be a part of his life long past the pandemic. And while I may be struggling, the gratitude and resilience that he demonstrates from day to day is humbling, and inspiring.  He misses things too, don’t get me wrong, but he has more appreciation for the simple things in life than a lot of 6 year olds I know.  

I’m still keeping my fingers crossed for a greasy bowling alley birthday in the not too distant future, but maybe, just maybe the typical is overrated.  Maybe I can follow my son’s lead and lean in and find the joy in this atypical life just a little longer.  Maybe.