Nostalgia in Apartment Pants

As strange as this may sound, I miss lockdown. I get nostalgic for it. Not for the uncertainty of it all, or for the general concern for the health and wellbeing of my friends and family, and definitely not for the people that showed how unwilling they are to help out their fellow man, but for simply… the simplicity of it all.

It was a weird, scary time but for a few weeks, I felt like, oh, this is what life should be. Most days, I thought to myself, wow, so this is what it’s like to be rich. I would wake up and go out on our balcony and do yoga and meditate. I spent my days reading and doing gratitude exercises. Went to bed without setting an alarm. I had nowhere I needed to be, and there was nothing that I really needed to do. I didn’t need things. I didn’t mindlessly shop and waste my money on frivolous Marshall’s runs. I got one pair of comfy pants that I called my “apartment pants,” (IYKYK) and I think that was one of the only things I purchased for a solid month, maybe longer. But mostly, I felt like I had time to do all the things that are really important to me, and I felt… happy.

My dad drove out and stayed with us for about three months, if I remember correctly. We painted my bedroom. We painted our downstairs. We went for walks multiple times a day, and sometimes we talked, sometimes we didn’t. Once we got caught in the rain. Some days we took my dog, other days my husband came. And sometimes, we all went and when my stepson was with us, he would come too. In the afternoons, we would do puzzles and play board games. In the evenings, we would watch Lost, or a movie, or some other show. We all settled into a weird routine that felt wholesome, and we felt connected, and it felt right. For a month, I had no money coming in, which was strange, but I’ve been in that boat before, so it wasn’t scary. When my unemployment checks started coming in, I felt grateful. But never once was I not able to pay my bills because somehow the money always showed up.

We cooked. I cooked. We baked. We collected kale from our neighbors and made kale chips. We made cookies. Other people made bread. And some people made art. Some people found a creative side they didn’t know they had, and others were able to hone their craft. Some of the most beautiful art, videos, essays and movies came out of the darkest days. I felt more connected to the world during lockdown than I do most days that I’m actually out in it. I remember videos of people in cities out on their balconies singing to each other, and for a moment, it felt like we found our humanity, and like we were all oddly connected through this strange moment of time. For a moment, it felt like we were reinventing the world we live in. I was hopeful that things would change for the better when things went back to normal, (whatever that meant,) and that we would continue to find ways to really connect with eachother and that there would be a global shift in priorities, artists would be appreciated like it was The Renaissance. Musicians would be revered as magic makers, because it was them that brought light to darkness. I felt like we had all been given the gift of time and of a fresh start. I felt like I had been given the gift of hope.

I suppose I was overly optimistic, as I write this is 2024, almost four years to the day that everything shut down. Four years ago, I still had my salon suite, had been hearing rumors of some virus but wasn’t worried at all, and was just trying to get settled into my then-boyfriend, now-husband’s home, because we had just decided to move in together. Of course, now I know that it was all temporary. It’s like everyone forgot what it was like. No one bakes bread anymore. Families don’t go out for walks together. No one is posting pictures of their latest completed puzzle. It makes me sad. I had hoped we would still be holding onto the things that made lockdown wonderful, but here we are. But what I do know is that I had a glimpse of what life should be and it gives me something to strive for. Like I know what luxury feels like because I had those days and weeks of doing nothing more than the things that brought me joy. I love knowing that people took that time to start new businesses and are thriving. I love that it did shake some things up and gave people an opportunity to take part of their lives back- like finding jobs that allow them a better work-life balance, or control of their own schedules, and better wages in some cases. I love knowing that there were so many people that wanted to leave their jobs but were too scared, and the Universe gave them the kick in the ass that they needed to try something new.

I’m not going to pretend that it wasn’t hard, or that every day was roses, because that would be a lie. I also know that I write this as an introvert, and that I finally lived in a world that catered to that, rather than our normal world that insists on being extroverted. It gave me a sense of peace, not having to be on all the time. I felt calm. Relaxed. Especially in the beginning. The longer I went on the more I struggled- I lost my identity in a way, I wasn’t a hairdresser, I didn’t have much purpose, and after several months I felt like I was wandering aimless. This was actually after things opened back up, but long before I went back to doing hair. It was actually the opening up of things that made it hard, because then there was the question of where do we go, is it worth risking my family’s health, I’m ready to go do something, but I feel guilty, what if I get not only my family sick but someone else’s family sick? What if someone dies because I decided to walk around a bookstore? There were other things that I struggled with, and all of this led to me getting therapy – like, regular, weekly, dig through all the shit kind of therapy, so I am grateful regardless of the hard stuff. But at the end of the day, it’s not all that I remember.

I remember the zoom family bingo nights, (which we haven’t done since.) I remember the cookies and the new hobbies and the well-organized pantries. I remember morning meditation with the sun on my face. I remember the months I spent with my dad, doing our Spanish lessons and teaching him how to play “Words with Friends.” I remember days spent in hammocks and lounging in apartment pants and sleeping in next to my husband. I remember the bad, but I remember the good more, because that is the stuff that really matters. I think somedays, that is why I want to write so badly- like making my living writing books- because when I write, it is the closest thing to those days. I see it as the thing that would allow me to live my best life, to go for walks with my dad, to lounge around watching movies with my family, and to bake a cake just because I feel like it. The day I start making my living through the books that I write, is the day I can recapture the leisure that I loved so much, while creating something for the world to enjoy. I don’t need the world to shut down, but I just need that. So yeah, I could write about the shitty parts of the pandemic, and there were many, but I don’t want to, because what is the point when there were so many other things that made it memorable.

If you feel like it, drop a comment with your best memory from lockdown. I’d love to hear it, and find the ways we are still all in it together.