When I walk into the grocery store, I am greeted by several eye-catching signs. “A mask or face covering is required.” “Please maintain six feet of distance between yourself and other shoppers.” “If you are experiencing any symptoms, please stay home.” A year ago, this type of sign felt strange. But now, it is strange how familiar they are. It is the beginning of April, 2021, just over a year since the pandemic first started having a real impact in the lives of Americans. A year since non-essential business first closed and mask wearing became mandatory. A year since our jobs, schools, and social lives moved entirely online. A year in which we’ve seen humanity at its best and at its worst. A year of innovation and support, but also a year of loneliness and depression. What a year it’s been.
Covid crept into my consciousness in very memorable ways towards the beginning of 2020. Ben and I were lucky enough to take an international trip to the Philippines in February of last year. At that point, “the coronavirus” had just started inching its way out of China, and the Philippines was the only other country to have recorded a death from the virus.
Thankfully, our vacation was hardly impacted by Covid, but I can remember a few small hints that the world was on the edge of something drastic. A fellow traveler told us they had almost cancelled their trip when they heard about the virus. We had to have out temperature taken before entering a shopping center. Many passengers wore masks on our flight home. At the time, these things stood out to me for their strangeness. I never could have imagined they would become normal.
The Philippines completely shut their borders only two weeks after we got home. The first cases of Covid-19 in the U.S. were recorded around the same time. In mere days, life began to change in big ways. First, I couldn’t get toilet paper at the store. Then, kids in New Mexico were told to stay home from school. Then all non-essential businesses were closed for an indefinite amount of time. At the time, I worked in a tea shop, and was out of work for two months with little more than a day’s warning.
The beginning of the pandemic seemed, to me, to be defined by rapid, large-scale changes. It was impossible to predict and impossible to plan because life was so different from one day to the next. It felt as if new restrictions were being put in place every single day. Often, I couldn’t even keep up with them all.
And yet, when I look at the beginning of the pandemic, I can see a naïve hope that can only exist in times of such uncertainty. As a culture, we rallied, encouraging one another to make it through these trying circumstances. We believed that if we refrained from seeing our friends and family for a few weeks, we could “flatten the curve,” and life could go back to normal. We baked and we planted gardens and we talked to each other on Zoom. Ben and I did what we called the “A to Z of quarantine,” where we chose a different activity to do together at home each day, beginning with a different letter of the alphabet. I, like many others, thought we would deal with Covid for a few weeks, or maybe a few months, but that life would go back to normal before too long.
I learned quickly exactly how ignorantly optimistic I was.
The first major blow was when my summer study-abroad program in England was cancelled, followed by three more international trips that we had already booked for later in the year. While I know that I am incredibly blessed to travel as much as I do, and that many people had suffered far more than I had at this point in the pandemic, the cancelled trips stripped away the things I had to look forward to, which was devastating for my mental health. I had told myself, “Things will be better by Greece,” then, “Things will be better by Egypt.” But things kept not getting better, and with each disappointment, I sunk further and further into depression.
As the months of 2020 dragged on, I became less and less energetic, more and more apathetic. I felt frozen, unhappy with my life, but powerless to change it. In many ways, I was. I went through cycles of doing what I could to make things better and disappointment when nothing changed. I like the phrase “quarantine fatigue.” Like all of us, I was just ready for this thing to be over.
I was also upset every day by the constant stream of negative news from all around me. I’m not saying that the news was upsetting (although it was), but rather that it was exhausting that every news headline was negative. No matter what side of the political spectrum you fell on, there were endless things to be unhappy about, and the news did its best to make sure we never ran out of things to be afraid of, to be sad for, or to hate. It’s no wonder I was just one of millions of people who experienced depressive tendencies this year.
Of course, the isolation and complete disruption in my work schedule did not help my mental health much. I recognize the compared to many, my experience of the pandemic has been pretty easy, but I’m also not going to apologize for saying it was a bad time in my life.
When election season rolled around, I saw things go from bad to worse. What was already a pretty tense election was made that much more contentious with Covid exacerbating already polarizing issues. It was during these weeks that I truly realized how all-encompassing the pandemic had become. It pervaded every conversation. I couldn’t make a decision about anything without considering Covid. Should I start thinking about a vacation for next year? Well, most countries’ borders aren’t open yet. Should I start thinking about a new career path? But the economy is in such a precarious place right now. Should we go out for dinner tonight? Not all restaurants are open for dine in, but we could probably get something delivered. Can I leave my house? Not unless you’ve got a mask and a good reason.
Earlier in the pandemic, I had been generally supportive of the restrictions that were put in place to limit social interactions and slow the spread of the virus. We didn’t yet know the beast we were fighting, and it was better to be overly cautious than to regret not being cautious enough. By this point however, I was consistently frustrated by rules I did not understand. When we traveled out of state over Thanksgiving, I had to take two weeks off work to quarantine even though I got two negative Covid tests, one before flying back to New Mexico, and another one five days later. I watched local businesses fail left and right because they were not allowed to be open, while dozens of strangers crowded in lines at big grocery stores. I never thought we should do away with all restrictions entirely, but it was frustrating when I couldn’t understand the logic behind the rules.
Then in December, we finally got some good news. The vaccine was ready. We were on the downhill slope. I started the new year with hope that while normal was still a long way off, I could finally see it in the distance. I watched the statistics climb every day as more and more people were vaccinated.
In February, we traveled to Kenya, a whole year since we had first begun hearing about Covid in the Philippines. In many ways, it was wildly different from the international travel we had done before. We had to get several Covid tests before going and before coming home. We wore masks. We hardly saw any other travelers. In other ways, it wasn’t that different at all. We had exciting adventures. We experienced a new culture. It was on this trip that the pandemic’s decline really began to feel real and present.
I’m sure that many people would call it irresponsible of us to travel at all, much less internationally, during this time. This brings me back around to frustration about not understanding the rules. I truly believed, and still do, that it was possible to travel safely and responsibly during the pandemic. Sure, travel would have to look different, but that shouldn’t mean it’s impossible. We were tested twice before we left for Africa, and I flew internationally confident that every person on the plane with me had been tested in the previous 72 hours. If anything, I actually felt safer flying than doing a lot of other activities for that reason. When we landed in Kenya, we enjoyed a private safari with just me, Ben, and our guide, who had been tested before we arrived. We then got tested again before we came back to the U.S. The whole thing made me hopeful that a return to my travel-oriented lifestyle was on the horizon.
In March, almost a year to the day since we entered our first lockdown, I received my first dose of the vaccine. I’m scheduled to get my second in a few weeks’ time. I’ve watched the numbers of cases and deaths decline all around the world as the vaccine numbers have continued to grow and grow. While I’m not sure life will ever go back to how it was before, I feel hopeful that this pandemic is finally nearing its end.
So here’s the thing—if I were a motivational speaker, I would probably now talk about all the good we can focus on that came out of this year. As a Christian, I should probably say something about how longsuffering produces endurance. But I’m not trying to offer life lessons here. Instead I’m just writing down my thoughts and feelings. So with that in mind, I’m going to wrap this up by saying I’m sick of Covid! I’m angry about all the lives that were lost and the suffering it caused. I’m distressed for the devastation this pandemic has wreaked on our psyche as a culture and as a species. I’m tired of the division it has caused between friends, between family members, and between ideologies. Covid have caused enough damage to the world, and I thank God every day that we are edging closer and closer to the day that it is gone from our lives and from our consciousnesses.
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