How I Dream of a Safe, Blissful Return to Easy Life

I miss the small things of the “old normal”

I am folding laundry when I break out into song today. It’s a weird stream-of-consciousness activity I ushered in with the pandemic. Typically little snippets of songs hit my vocal cords before I understand what’s happening. The lyrics just flow. I laugh at my weird loneliness.

At times, these are made-up raps or musical numbers about my clothes. More often, they are nostalgic songs reminding me of hope and comfort. And I remember the relatively safe and easy sunshine that illuminated my life.

Sit back. Relax. Enjoy the show.

This time, I sing, “Sit back. Relax. Enjoy the show!” and sorrow envelopes me. My scent memory has me nearly tasting movie theater popcorn. I ache for a darkened theater. The longing is so acute, I cry for a plush theater seat and joking banter with friends. Nostalgia for movie trailers in surround sound overwhelms me. I become lost in a daydream of the small things I took for granted.

I miss the too-cold theater. I miss making fun of the obnoxious lady loudly whispering into her phone in front of me. I miss the acne-faced teenage usher who’d tell me to “Enjoy the show” while ripping my ticket. I miss my embarrassment as I’d respond, “You too!” Every time. Without fail.

Movies have long served as my magical escape from reality. And the movie theater is the magician. The magic loses a bit of sparkle when the theater isn’t an option.

The safe return to normalcy is a slow-moving train. I catch a glimmer of the majestic views around the corner of the tracks, but I know they are still out of reach. The truth is, we may settle into the comfort of a “new normal,” but the old normal is gone. Watching films in a theater is a mere symbol of the myriad loves lost. And I miss the small things.

Lost Hugs

I love hugs. I’m not talking about light, wimpy hugs. I want strong embraces that convey deep emotion. Pre-pandemic, I loved unexpectedly running into good friends. “Yay!” I’d exclaim. “What are you doing here?” And a lengthy embrace would ensue.

I don’t open up or trust easily, but I love bear hugs — from almost anyone. Hugs bombard me with warmth, love, and security. Hugs help me communicate love. Over the past year, I confess I’ve dropped my hug guard from time to time, but mostly I am acutely aware of blocking physical contact.

We are ten months into a raging pandemic. Hope, in the form of vaccines and new, compassionate leadership, looms on the horizon, but the storm clouds of COVID-19 still hang heavy. I schedule a monthly meet-up with a friend, and we both refrain from touch.

We sit outdoors, in 25°F weather, and stay 6 feet apart. The meeting lasts less than an hour, as neither of us longs for frostbite. There’s one other table on the opposite end of the patio, and the occupants there look uncomfortable too. My friend and I leave without hugging, and a small pinch twinges my heart.

A New Hope

I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.”

-Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

Collectively, the past twelve months have robbed us of much. Over 400,000 American lives lost — more than the number lost in the entirety of World War II — and 2.1 million lost worldwide. An attempted coup and increased vitriol threatened to topple US democracy as the rest of the world watched in horror. Wildfires raged, destroying ecosystems and lives around the globe. Role models and significant social contributors died tragically.

Personally, significant loss permeates the air I breathe in a way I’ve not known before. I grieve the sudden 2020 losses of my amazing little brother, my eccentric, wonderful aunt — the embodiment of NYC — and two close friends who were integral parts of my life. Their absences cast a long shadow. Swirls of grief and joy still mingle in the caverns of my heart. I’m discovering new ways to mourn and rejoice moving forward.

Our children have missed out on the social interactions and school milestones intertwined with education. Adults grieve laughing with friends in the ambiance of great restaurants and bars. We’ve lost hugs with loved ones and strangers alike. For many, family and friend gatherings are out-of-the-question. With hyper-vigilance, we mask up and stay six feet away from those outside of our households.

The fresh air of hope breathes in with the new calendar year. A new US president who exudes decency and compassion and pledges to work toward unity and ownership of mistakes lifts the spirits of many. But the truth is, we still have a long, arduous journey ahead. According to Dr. Anthony Fauci, there are months before we can reach the mass vaccination level needed to stomp out this silent, insidious beast.

Where Do We Go From Here? Or, The Resiliency of Humanity

“Civilised life, you know, is based on a huge number of illusions in which we all collaborate willingly. The trouble is we forget after a while that they are illusions and we are deeply shocked when reality is torn down around us.”

-J.G. Ballard

I remember the days after 9/11. Life felt irrevocably altered. We mourned the tragic loss of life and stood together — as a world. But all went back to “normal” within a month. As an American, I understood our shores were no longer free from terrorism. As an individual, I had to wait in longer airport security lines and remember not to stash my body spray in a carry-on. The societal norms momentarily ebbed and then came flooding back.

Humanity has faced terrifying global pandemics before. For example, the Black Death plague of the 14th century wiped out close to two-thirds of the world’s population. And yet, people always found a way to live full — albeit vastly different — lives.

After the past four years, and amid a pandemic still wreaking havoc, I sense the “old,” easy normal will not return. And, I miss physical connection with others. I long for a carefree movie theater experience. I may, once again, “enjoy the show.” But capacity regulations and preventative health measures may remain permanent.

Almost a full calendar year has passed since the pandemic first blew upheaval and destruction through social lives and the global economy. And, our lives are indeed altered. The small events we long for may return, but they’ll never be the same.

And, we’ll adapt. We’ll make it work. We are resilient. I still want that over-buttered, stale popcorn, though.