As an introvert, I felt like I was experiencing the pandemic differently from everyone else.
The beginning of 2020 brought a lot of change for me. A woman I’d been seeing dumped me. I had to put down a beloved cat I’d had for 17 years. And I started a job that ended a year and a half of underemployment. All in the first three months of 2020.
Of course, I felt the same fears as everyone else during the lockdowns. What was going to happen? Where can I find toilet paper? Will my senior parents be OK?
But my new job was deemed essential, so financially, I was doing better than I had in several years. When I let myself relax enough to accept that the pandemic was going to be more “staycation” than “nuclear winter” for me, I treated myself to marathon sessions of books, movies and video games. I ran laps at the Shadle High School track. I cleaned parts of my home I hadn’t gotten to in years. My joy of solitude finally served me. A small part of me felt shame for having it good and feeling more myself during COVID, while so many others were struggling.
I have this memory from the end of 2020. I hadn’t put up a Christmas tree in years and decided this was the time to renew the tradition. I unboxed the new tree, and as I struggled somewhat to assemble it, out of nowhere I found myself sobbing. I mourned lost time with friends and family. I mourned the pet who would have given me so much company during lockdown. My 50th birthday came and went with little fanfare. I found myself in a complicated emotional state that both recognized the joy in the year I’d experienced and felt empathy for what so many others had lost in 2020. Turns out, I needed some connection and was still human after all.
— Trevor T., submitted by email
