Quick Vent Session: Does anyone else feel stuck?

I’m usually right about my intuitions –– or at least I’d like to think so –– but for some reason, I was wrong about this summer. If you’ve kept up with this blog, or have had even a 15-minute conversation with me, or have been following me on social media, you’d know that I have no idea what I want to do with my life. It’s sort of a laughable personality trait at this point. Well, earlier this year I had the ideal summer scenario planned out in my head that would presumably fix that problem:

I’d be laying on a boat, perhaps somewhere in the Mediterranean, basking in the sun with only a bikini on, when suddenly I’d realize exactly what career path I was destined to take. Just like that, a romanticized epiphany about my future would magically materialize in my mind.

Sounds ridiculous, I know.

Yet here I am, living through a global pandemic in a city that was recently regarded as its epicenter (just to be clear — I’m talking about Queens, NY, not Wuhan, China), and I can’t help but feel stuck.

I feel stuck when it comes to doing things on my own. Even simple things, like taking a walk, going to the supermarket, figuring out what to make for breakfast, etc. I feel stuck when it comes to applying to jobs. I feel stuck when it comes to seeing friends, even if I know they’ve quarantined for the last two weeks. I feel stuck when it comes to buying clothes online. I just can’t bring myself to do some things, simple or hard. I feel so stuck. I even feel stuck writing this blog post. I’ve been trying to get myself to do it for a few days now, but I don’t even know where I’m heading with it.

I don’t know what to do. I haven’t known what to do in months, especially after losing my life-long identity as a student, facing unemployment for the foreseeable future, and living through a pandemic that has forced me to re-evaluate what’s important in life. (Side note: I’ve always been a city girl, but for some reason recently I’ve caught myself flirting with the idea of moving to a suburb in like, Arizona or something. What’s that about?)

It’s frustrating, especially when I see others making things happen in their own lives, despite the uncertainty that, for me, seems to continuously linger in the very air we breathe.

It feels like I’ve been sitting on my bed for four months, waiting for the world to either end or mend. But suddenly, reality is returning. Things are reopening, people I had previously regarded as “friends” are attending 30-person backyard parties with no regard for anyone else (*ahem* assholes), my peers are getting incredible job offers for the fall, and somehow it’s the middle of fucking July (??????????????!!!!!!!!!!!). 

Truth is, I’m not ready for this return to normalcy that everyone else seems to be so desperate for. Maybe I got so comfortable waiting for the outdoors to be safe again that I got caught in what feels like my own version of Groundhog’s Day, and I can’t find the exit. Or maybe what I’m experiencing is a new type of FOMO, where everyone else is seemingly able to ignore this terrifying virus, while I’m locked up in my home, hiding myself away from both the virus and the careless fun, just like Bubble Boy.

Constantly logging on to Snapchat or Instagram and seeing all these group photos and travel pics doesn’t help either. Actually, it makes me question my own values. Embarrassingly enough, I’ve felt tempted to surrender my fears. The little devil on my shoulder has tried to convince me to not let the coronavirus hold me back from living my best life this summer. I just want to say “Fuck it,” go to a bar, walk around with no mask, hop on a plane and get out of here. But I just can’t allow myself to do that.

Perhaps that’s why I feel so stuck. I don’t know how to live with this new normal, and I know that’s okay and that most people feel that way too, but I really want to get out of here. By “here,” I mean this mindset, this city, this country, this universe…. I hate this feeling and I can’t seem to shake it off.

I guess I finally understand “Weightless,” that All Time Low song I sang along to when I was 12 without fully grasping the lyrics. Except, while it’s definitely not my weekend, it probably won’t be my year either. I hate to say it, but for now, it seems that all I can do is wait for actual normal life to resume.