Since nearly the first day of the Bay Area’s shelter-in-place orders, I’ve spilled a lot of my guts onto the digital pages of The Bold Italic, almost like a pandemic diary. I shared what it was like to lose my job overnight, why I hired a life coach to cope with the helplessness, and even reflected on my role as a first-time cat mom. Although I’ve also gotten out of my own head a few times to report on the pandemic’s effects on others— like sex workers and food business owners — I’ve largely expressed my own feelings in paragraphs , processing the pandemic’s progression of seasons.
So here we are at the one-year mark of shelter-in-place, and I see messaging about hope. Last year, I marked “one-year pandemic anniversary reflection” in my writing calendar, with expectations of detailing the leaps and bounds I would have made in the past 12 months. The beginning of 2021 felt like a true reset. Things were looking up with the start of the Biden-Harris administration and the vaccine rollouts. I almost landed a dream job.
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So why, instead of feeling excited about what the one-year anniversary might bring, I feel like I want to crawl into bed even more than at the beginning of shelter-in-place? Recent focus on crimes against Asian Americans, especially seniors, has continued to be heavy. My college classmates have been in the headlines with allegations of sexual harassment and discrimination against political and corporate giants — bringing these issues much closer to home. It’s a lot to digest.
I wanted the one-year mark to present a clean answer, tied up neatly with a bow, to everything I’ve been worrying about during the past year. I want to know if the number of people struggling to pay rent or put food on the table will taper off as more of us get vaccinated and the economy opens up.
Will the federal minimum wage increase enough for people to survive? What about universal health care, daycare, and basic income — things we knew would have especially helped us during the pandemic? Did we, in the words of Game of Thrones’ Daenerys Targaryen, break the wheel enough to seriously consider restructuring our government safety nets? Once we go back to “normal,” will these issues be forgotten?
The past year was dominated by major societal debates and changes—Black Lives Matter protests, the apocalyptic wildfires, the presidential election, and terrifying insurrection—and their effects felt stronger due to being a captive audience at home — watching, reading, and scrolling to no end. The year turned more of us awake; we’re paying attention. That’s not going away, even if the president isn’t tweeting headlines.
My pandemic anniversary dread is about more than just the news and policy issues. I am panicking on a personal level, left with so many questions. I feel like the arrival of the anniversary comes with a timer that just went off, and I have to take a pass or fail quiz on how much I learned or grew during the last 12 months.
Did I become a master woodworker or plank my way to a six-pack of abs? How about both? Did I self-actualize and transcend the need for material goods?
I feel like the arrival of the anniversary comes with a timer that just went off, and I have to take a pass or fail quiz on how much I learned or grew during the last 12 months.
The answer is most definitely not. I gained pandemic pudge and bought lots of sized-up sweatpants. I’m still unemployed. If I don’t have a job when the pandemic is truly over — will that still be acceptable? Will there be any empathy left for people still reeling from pandemic losses? Or will it suddenly be embarrassing and shameful to not have a job or need time off for mental health?
When I lost my job and realized how easy it was to go from perceived stability to fear of losing everything, my empathy for others grew. I’ve been donating more than I ever have despite being unemployed. I finally started volunteering during the pandemic. I don’t want to lose the compassion I gained from this experience, of being acutely aware of how others have less than I do.
I tried to reduce my dependence on Big Tech as the temptation to rely on it completely during the pandemic grew. I wasn’t strong enough to get rid of my Amazon Prime membership, but at least cut down my use of it. I only buy books from independent bookstores, and generally try to purchase goods from BIPOC-owned businesses. I cut down on using DoorDash and UberEats to help save my favorite restaurants from brutal commission fees, and to avoid corporate ghost kitchens that often masquerade as small businesses. These were small, but tangible, victories and ways to feel control in the face of the looming public health crisis and my ongoing unemployment.
I’m scared this one-year anniversary may be the beginning of a different type of end. I’m worried the personal growth and survival mentality honed over the past year will simply disappear into the distractions of bars and packed social calendars. That any hard-won gains were merely situational for pandemic living and will have no application in the new world.
What it comes down to is this: I’m afraid of not knowing who I’ll be when this is over.
What lessons or personal developments can I keep? What can I cast off? Will I have a choice? I don’t have all the answers I want, but here’s the answer I have for now: This anniversary is a significant point in time, but it’s not the end point. This one-year mark is not only a time to reflect on who I’ve become these past 12 months, but also who I want to be after the pandemic is over. I have to believe that I have the power to choose no matter what’s happening outside of my control, and I hope I choose well.
