I read this article on what it means to pandemic, solo in January, and I honestly haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
I don’t know what it is. I’m not living alone. But there’s something about these stories that resonated with me on a much deeper level; maybe it touched a nerve on the loneliness I—and so many others I know—have been feeling almost every day for a year, despite my living situation.
Maybe it’s because I was living alone at the beginning of the pandemic and I caught a glimpse of what life could have been like for me if I hadn’t moved home with family.
Maybe it’s because, as the author points out, a lot of the narrative around all of this centers on the nuclear family. And I wish there were more mainstream stories from people who don’t have that to show the full spectrum of what this year has done to people—the good and the bad.
But the nugget in this piece that keeps making its way back to the front of my mind is from Anne, a 27-year-old queer developer relations wrangler from Salt Lake City. Specifically, this:
I see this time as an edge case of the soul. I had a sabbatical from work last year where I was able to fully immerse myself in who I was without work and now I feel like I’m having a forced sabbatical from other parts of my soul. Who am I when I’m not productive? How do I love people when I can’t see them?
That hit me hard. That’s exactly what this experience has been like for me.
Who am I when I can’t have sushi and cocktail nights with my friends? Who am I when I can’t date? Who am I when I no longer have my independence? Who am I when I can’t muster the energy to get more than one big work task done a day? Who am I when I can’t find peace and vitality in yoga classes? Who am I when I can’t find joy in traveling to new places or singing loudly in a crowd at a concert?
The list goes on and on and on. It’s quite depressing to focus on all that I’ve lost over the past year, but actually, I think I’ve come up with answers for all of these questions.
I’ve spent so much time with myself over the past year that I feel like I’ve cultivated a sense of self-awareness that I didn’t think was possible, even for me. In fact, being that I am who I am, I created a Google Doc recently called “Self Key Learnings.” I wanted to remember all that I’ve learned about myself in going through this—the positive and the negative. And I filled out almost three pages.
While I need to keep most of it just for me, some snippets include:
My intuition is my strongest gift. I should always trust it and not question what I know to be true.
I’m an empath. I process and feel things super deeply. My high sensitivity is the explanation behind almost everything I struggle with, but it’s also my greatest strength.
I’m a creative, artistic, visual person. I’m a writer. I’m passionate, thoughtful, loving, nurturing, soft. Own it.
I’m going to have anxious thoughts. They’re going to feel real, and it’s very hard for me not to believe them. This will always be hard, but the trick is to not engage with them.
It’s really important to me to take care of myself, mentally and physically. And I’m good at it.
I’ve been able to start, maintain, and grow so many amazing friendships with people all around the world, even during a pandemic. That says something.
Yes, I’m feeling stuck and lonely. But because of that, I’ve had the opportunity to look inward, and I now know what I need, what I want, and what my triggers are.
Sometimes suffering can be a gift.