Inspired by this article published by The Atlantic on January 27th 2021.

My Snapchat memories from January of 2020 consist of a considerable bunch of saved good morning snaps, the vast majority of which I was complaining about my commute. Looking back now, if I went back to Past Me to tell them that "hey, actually, you are going to miss this so much in a year from now. Enjoy your awful, annoying commute while you can," I would probably sock Future Me in the throat. It took me until June 2020 to cave-- to admit to myself after months of only leaving the house to make grocery runs that I had missed the normalcy of chaos and crowds, of being able to take the subway to any part of the city that I desired (even if the delays drove me out of my mind).

As the pandemic approaches its first anniversary and as colleges begin the Spring semester, it is important to acknowledge the impact of the pandemic on our routines, social behaviors, and our psyches. Normalcy is all but nonexistent. Zoom meetings that were once labeled as being anxiety-inducing or too impersonal have been accepted into the vast majority of workplaces and schools. In other words, it has become the new normal. When the number of COVID cases in New York City was at 8,000, fear made its home in people's minds; now, as cases approach 20,000, many New Yorkers have accepted their proximity to sickness and death, and simply carry on. Collectively, we have increasingly adjusted to conditions over time. The gravity of national and international news shakes us every day, but the impact of each jolt has dulled, despite danger and unrest increasing.

The reality of the situation is, though, that while worldly developments have been rapid and ceaseless, personal development has been stunted-- particularly for young people. As a result, the outlets for the (understandable) frustration that folks may feel have been considerably limited.

On a bad day last year, I may have been able to spontaneously take the subway to a different part of the city to explore, but travel is not a luxury I have now. I live with immunocompromised people and any I take trips have to be a fortnight apart. When I felt lonely or isolated one year ago, I had the ability to spend time with friends.

In April 2020, I was frequently at the end of the exclamation, "when I see you after everything goes back to normal, I think I just might cry!", but I am quickly realizing that there is no one singular day when things will "go back to normal." There is an awareness of there being a light at the end of the tunnel, but that light keeps moving farther and farther away, the tunnel gets longer and longer.

After such a long-term shift from "normal," casualty has been all but erased. It is very difficult to cultivate friendships via zoom. While it is possible to do so, the majority of those I have spoken with prefer to make friends in real life. After all, if you saw someone in two of your back-to-back classes, it was simple to get to know them over time on the walk from course to course, but messaging someone saying "hey, we both take these two classes" is much more intentional. Maintaining an acquaintance was also much simpler in person-- the only way to interact with someone virtually is to seek them out and have an intention for the conversation. When people were simply stuck in the same situation together (such as a professor running late and having to wait outside a lecture hall with a group), there was an understanding that small talk was appropriate and socially acceptable. Thus conversations with new peers were surface level, but organic nonetheless. Now, small talk, though tedious to many, has been eradicated.

Casual socialization via routine is also rare. For those working from home, those people they see on their commute every day-- or in class, or at the gym--no longer have a place in life. In my case, I am definitely more of the silent type in public, but seeing the same familiar strangers going about their little lives on my peripheral felt like I was a regular person with a life. Whereas now, especially with the lack of personal development, the combination of consistently being on the receiving end of world-shaking daily news while simultaneously being unable to change and grow has made me feel like a spectator in my own life, rather than like a human experiencing life.

This seems to be a common sentiment among young people-- but of course, we are powerless to bring back normalcy.

However, that does not mean that intentional human connection is not an option. Sure, it may take a lot more energy-- which is taxing, given that people are more depressed and unmotivated than ever-- but maintaining that sense of normalcy seems to do a considerable amount for mental health. While it may seem intimidating, it will be worth it to meet others-- to actively try to sculpt spaces for people in our lives, other than simply those who are closest to us.

As this seemingly endless tunnel gets longer and longer, our eyes are in danger of adjusting to the darkness, and we must do everything in our power to hold on to the light.