365 Days of this Bullshit

Summary

Julio Vincent Gambuto reflects on a year of solitude during the pandemic, detailing the personal transformation and the collective impact of the past 365 days spent in self-quarantine in a New York City apartment.

Abstract

Julio Vincent Gambuto marks the one-year anniversary of his self-imposed quarantine, which began on March 9, 2020, after returning from Seattle, the initial epicenter of the COVID-19 pandemic in the United States. His experience of extreme solitude in his Manhattan apartment has been a journey of self-discovery, revealing both a profound love and hatred for human interaction, and a necessity for it despite moments of loneliness. The pandemic has unexpectedly closed and opened chapters in his life, leading to personal growth and a reevaluation of what is truly important. Gambuto acknowledges that the future will not revert to the old normal but will incorporate the lessons learned from the past year, suggesting a more intentional and appreciative approach to life post-pandemic.

Opinions

Gambuto initially saw self-quarantine as a dramatic yet temporary measure, which has since transformed into a significant period of self-reflection and personal change.
The pandemic has heightened his awareness of the balance between solitude and companionship, emphasizing the importance of human connection.
The experience has been bittersweet, with moments of clarity and growth juxtaposed against feelings of isolation and impatience.
He believes that the collective experience of the pandemic should lead to a positive transformation in society, making people more resilient and appreciative of life's nuances.
Gambuto anticipates a thrilling re-entry into a changed world, where people carry forward the insights gained during the pandemic, enhancing their style and grace in facing future challenges.

Quick reflections on 52 weeks of solitude in a 500-SF apartment

My bookshelf. Three of many bottles. | PC: me

It’s been a year. On March 9, 2020, I started my “self-quarantine.” That was a new word to me then (to all of us) and a wholly new experience. This exciting act of heroism — sequestering yourself away so as not to infect others — was a bit dramatic at first. Really, two weeks? It has now been fifty-two.

When I started my personal lockdown, I was just back from a trip to Seattle, then the epicenter. It was a celebratory trip, a film festival. Two days in, word around Seattle was that it was about to get dangerous there. So I boarded a plane, cutting my trip short to fly home to New York City, straight into what would become the new epicenter.

None of us knew what was coming: disinfecting the mail, the clamoring of pots and pans, capitalizing the word Zoom. Also: a dystopian nightmare of great and painful solitude. I will never forget the ambulance sirens, the only sounds the City made for months. The last picture in my phone of The Before Times was my birthday cake, eaten by a bar full of friends in Los Angeles. The next one is a solo roll of toilet paper, in portrait mode — my attempt at Instagram humor in March 2020.

I have now been alone at home for 365 days. We all have different stories. Some of you were “trapped” at home with your family. I was trapped at home with myself. I like me, but not this much. Yes, I’ve taken days here and there to see people — this is not Walden, it’s Manhattan. But I have been mostly without others. It has made me realize how much I love others. And how much I hate others. How much I need others. How much I wish I didn’t need others. Along the way, I named my lamp. Larry and I have been through a lot.

This year has broken me in half. It has also helped me get to the core of who I am. It has abruptly closed some chapters that I wish I could have read more of, and it has rushed open new ones without even a title. It has given me long hair and short hair. It has left me with no patience. It has created great clarity. It has made plain the difference between want and need. It has made me lonelier than I have ever been in my life. And it has taught me to be strong in that solitude, however weak it has felt.

There will be no getting “back” to normal. The difficult truth of this moment, for all of us, is that the next version of who we are includes the last year. It is impossible for it not to. I have learned to let it change me. That’s okay. We are all better for it. Who are we, as a people, if we don’t let it change us?

What’s ahead are vaccines and re-entry, hopefully a summer of gatherings and human touch. What we re-enter is a morphed version of what we left behind. A heightened version of life. And I think it will be thrilling. If it’s not, that’s okay, too. We are better equipped for the shitty moments. We know more. We have seen more. We can be more than we were before. We can do it all now with a little more style and a lot more grace.

Julio Vincent Gambuto is a writer/director, based in New York City. He wrote that Medium essay about the pandemic that went around the world to 21M readers. Follow on Twitter for small thoughts, or here for Medium ones, or his website for large ones.

PANDEMIC

365 Days of this Bullshit

Quick reflections on 52 weeks of solitude in a 500-SF apartment