The New Normal

From the moment they announced the first vaccine, I was hopeful. Maybe life will be normal again, I thought. Then the second vaccine was approved, and then the third. Once people started to take them, life would return to how it once was. But I was wrong. In that year, the entire world lost motivation and its will to live. No amount of encouragement would reinstall that worth ethic so quickly. Nobody was ready to live life. Through the whole year, we’d looked forward to it. For a whole year, we anticipated how amazing it would feel to be able to hug each other closely. For a whole year, we were ready to live life to the fullest. Once the pandemic is over, we said. When life is normal again, we said. It will never be normal. We will always be waiting. Sure, now, “normal” is wearing masks and attempting to calculate six feet apart when walking in public, and failing each time. Right now, “normal” is working remotely and staying away from the outside world as possible. Right now, “normal” is when the only travel occurring is between social media apps. Then things will shift. For a moment, it will be different. That feeling of being able to brush past someone in the store and not feel like you’re breaking the law will return. The feeling of holding your loved ones close will return. But it won’t feel normal. Eventually we’ll get used to the big parties, and recurring cycle of waking up early, leaving your house, and then returning. Then we’ll wish for “normal” back. We’ll wish to return to the excessive extra time of quarantine. We’ll wish to return to the google meets and zoom calls. We’ll wish to return to only communicating through video chats and text messages. We will miss our old normal. We will miss the normal that came after the standard, pandemic-free life. We will miss the normal that when we were experiencing it, longed for the normal we were used to. Normal is a state of mind. You will always want for it to be normal, but you know what they say. You won’t miss something until it’s gone.

       I woke up at six-thirty. It was the first time I woke up earlier than five minutes before class started. I needed to get ready early, so I could be fresh for finally stepping onto the lot of my new school. I couldn’t wait to meet friends instead of constantly staring at an assortment of nameless faces in square form. Before leaving the house, I double checked my checklist I’d been preparing since I found out we were going back. I typed it frantically in my Notes app, thinking about how I couldn’t wait for normal life to come back. I couldn’t wait to finally see my teachers in a setting besides a pixelated screen. I would finally be able to make a connection, instead of losing it when my wifi went out. I wouldn’t be able to turn off my camera; my face would just be there for everyone to absorb. I would be forced to self-mute, and instead of that click-ding, the teacher would be forced to listen to the sound of our breathing. We would have to fight the urge to open our recreational apps used to cope. We would throw away breakout rooms and FaceTime calls for collaboration, and turn to the standard pulling up a chair and having a conversation. But in my haste of running out the door so I wouldn’t be late, I realized I forgot my mask! I sprinted back inside and upstairs, scrambling through my backpacks, and wasting time. Then it suddenly hit me, we didn’t need to wear one. I waited so long for a moment like this, but I completely forgot it was happening. I sprinted back outside to the car to make up for the moments lost when searching for my unnecessary face cover.

       Upon my arrival on campus, I expected for everyone’s eyes to be on me. But everyone was equally confused. People who already knew each other were reconnecting and catching up, joking about old times. The outsiders stumbled around the courtyard, looking for someone to strike a conversation with. Where would I lie? Should I head into the cafeteria and grab breakfast? Should I send a quick text to my friends to ask where they are? Should I head upstairs and check out the classrooms? I was finally presented with the opportunity for a normal school year, and I didn’t know how to act. I wasn’t going to let this experience fall through my hands, that’s for sure. I decided to call a friend to reconnect, like half of the school was doing. When I finally found him, he was with a mutual new friend of ours.

       “Hi, Janina, right?” She asked.

       “Yes! That’s me,” I smiled. In my head, I thought about how awkward this was. We knew each other. We had many late night or during class conversations. I knew her middle name and she knew my birthday. But the energy was still so rigid. We had never interacted in a setting like this, only through a screen. I didn’t realize until now how much of a toll virtual school took on my social skills. I felt like a robot. My communication methods all failed, and it was an embarrassing moment for the both of us. The bell finally rant and saved me from this excruciating social experience.

     I wasn’t planning to appear like a freshman, so I didn’t run to class. Instead of a stupid map, I let my common sense skills guide me to my classes, and I navigated pretty well. I wasn’t one of those awkward kids who ended up walking into a completely different class. I was one of those awkward kids who didn’t know what to say during the ice breaker. Our teachers nudged us to connect, but it seemed as if their social skills declined too. Nobody knew how to communicate clearly, and it was all a stiff mess. Lunch was hectic. Nobody knew where to sit, and administrators were urging us to make friends. By this time, people already knew the struggle of communication, and were not ready to struggle some more. People were either spread out from the instilled instinct to social distance, or spread out from their antisocial attitude. The pandemic was over, but we’d gotten used to the new normal. By the next week, I heard murmurs in the crowd of people asking, “I wish we could go back to normal virtual school.”