Eager to put the pandemic behind you? Not so fast
As always, there are lessons to be learned.
With vaccinations at last on the horizon for young kids, the light at the end of the obscenely long pandemic tunnel is finally looking brighter. Like many others, I can’t wait to gather indoors with friends, take my kids for a ride on the subway, and go to a movie theatre—a return to life’s formerly underappreciated activities.
But unlike many others, this isn’t my first encounter with craving normalcy after a tumultuous and traumatizing experience.
When I was diagnosed with breast cancer in my 20’s, the road to hopeful remission felt so far out of reach that I couldn’t comprehend how my life could look even remotely the same ever again.
While friends celebrated buying their first house or receiving a promotion at work, I lay in bed, scarred and sore from a double mastectomy, depleted and sick from months of chemotherapy and radiation. I was supposed to be in the prime of my life, and instead was monitoring my bald head for any signs of regrowth and mourning the loss of “cancer friends” I had met throughout the year. I quickly realized how much I had taken for granted: my health, my body, my appetite, my hair, my mortality.
More than seven years later, the pandemic hit, and a feeling of déjà vu washed over me. I once again felt isolated (despite the incessant refrain of “We’re all in this together!”), panicked, exhausted, hopeless, and stuck in my own version of Groundhog Day, uncertain if or when life would ever return to normal.
And now, after what feels like approximately one million years, it appears as though an end is in sight, thanks to the magic of modern science.
I can finally allow myself to imagine playdates and family vacations, and taking my boys to do all the things they have missed out on (riding a mall escalator will likely be top of the list for my 2 year-old who has no idea such wonders exist).1
The little things suddenly seem so big, with so much potential for previously untapped joy.
But I know from personal experience that once life returns to a new version of normal, the allure of the simple pleasures in life will begin to wear off.
With time, we’ll forget how meeting a friend for coffee felt like a distant dream, let alone hopping on a plane to a far-off destination. Eventually, years will pass and we’ll start to think, “Did that actually happen? Did we really live through that nightmare?” Details and memories will become a blur, as we carry on with whatever pressing matters face us in the future.
I urge you—beg you—to do your very best not to forget.
Don’t forget how you couldn’t have your parents come inside to meet their newborn grandchild.
Don’t forget how you longed to go to the movies, the library, a museum, anywhere.
Don’t forget how your chest tightened with panic when someone stood too close to you in the grocery aisle.
To forget would be to cancel out the major silver lining of the pandemic: a profound sense of gratitude for all the small things we previously took for granted.
Would we rather have arrived at this abundance of appreciation by different means? Duh. Of course—just like I wish a cancer diagnosis hadn’t been the catalyst that provided me with this wisdom. I’d greatly prefer to bypass miserable hardships, just like the rest of you. But in my view, it’s the most challenging times in our lives that afford us deeper understanding and purpose.
Keeping my cancer experience in my back pocket allows me to stay grounded and grateful. I understand the precious fragility of life, and the potential for it all to suddenly disappear. I’ve been able to savour the seemingly inconsequential moments that present themselves to us every single day, in a way that not many others can.
Soon, you will have this special ability too. Don’t squander it.
Delight in every physical embrace, every group gathering, every runny nose that doesn’t keep you locked inside your house for a month.
Make a promise to yourself and do it now, before it’s too late; promise yourself when better days are here, you’ll remember when they weren’t.
Let the pandemic give us this gift. After everything that we have endured and lost, I think we can all agree, it owes us at least that much.
Stray thoughts
Thank you to everyone who subscribed after my first issue! My heart sang with every new subscriber notification.
I also appreciate your comments, like this one from Carmen:
“I’ve missed you! I remember I would frantically read your blog when I was diagnosed and going through treatment. I would follow your timeline and gain strength in knowing that you were OK. Thank you for getting me through the worst time of my life. Your words are powerful.”
This week’s read: “What Becoming a Parent Really Does to Your Happiness”
“It may not be the happiness we live day to day, but it’s the happiness we think about, the happiness we summon and remember, the stuff that makes up our life-tales.”
After writing this, I happened to be reading a story to my son that featured an escalator. I asked him if he’ll want to go on one, and his eyes widened with fear: “No, I don’t want to do that! I want to stay in here with Mama!” A tiny but interesting window into the effects of this pandemic on our littlest human beings, who’ve been mostly cut off from “normal” things their entire life.