When I first moved into my new apartment, during the peak of the COVID-19 pandemic, my roommates and I were sat around our living room talking about what it was going to be like when we “finally got Coronavirus.” It seemed inevitable back then. We were always cautious, but deep down, we knew that we couldn’t possibly belong to a big university and assume that we would never cross paths with Coronavirus itself. Under this impression, we began brainstorming ideas on how to make the most glamorous 14-day quarantine we could think of in case one day, we caught the virus ourselves.
I have since crossed COVID’s path four times. Which means that I have willingly let a nurse shove a cotton swab so far up my nose that it reached my brain four times. Four times that I have found myself refreshing my email inbox to see if my results have come in, and four times that I have received negative test results. My roommate, on the other hand, was not so lucky because upon her realization that she had been exposed, she took a rapid test. By the time she returned home, her email inbox was blowing up with positive test results, COVID hotlines and endless emails from the Department of Health.
Our 14-day quarantine, as planned in August, was supposed to consist of all of the things we, as adults, stopped making time for. We wanted to do crafts on the living room floor. We wanted to put on face masks and watch every Twilight movie back to back. We wanted to bake. We hadn’t anticipated that only one of us would receive a positive test result, while the rest of us remained healthy. So, instead of taking part in our inclusive quarantine plans, my roommate began a 10-day isolation in her bedroom. Alone.
Isolation is such a scary word to me, as an extrovert. It quite literally means complete separation from others. Like… no thank you. Not interested. Back in March, when the whole world had gone dark and we were all confined to our houses, I felt this overwhelming feeling of exclusion. I knew the whole world was facing the same things I was, and yet I felt like I was missing something—like I was cut off from the rest of humanity. Logically, this wasn’t true, but it was lonely and I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy—let alone my roommate. As we quarantined and she isolated, I felt those feelings I had in March resurface. As a senior in college, my typically fast-paced lifestyle had slowed to a ridiculous minimum, and without the crafts and the Twilight marathons, I didn’t know what to do with myself. However, it had occurred to me when I was alone that perhaps this was happening for a reason.
As miserable as the months between March and July were for the country, I remember feeling a slight pang of disappointment in my gut when COVID restrictions first started being lifted—disappointment in myself for not using the time I had in quarantine more wisely. I realized that if I was legitimately being forced to slow down, I should have taken that time and used it to my advantage. My roommate told me that she started doing yoga in her bedroom during her isolation, and it inspired me.
My initial instinct would be to complain about being in quarantine again—to tell you that I’m dying a slow, Cabin-Fever induced death. But the truth is, I’m taking advantage of quarantine this time around. I’m learning about myself. I’m slowing down. I’m taking baths, reading books and rearranging the furniture in the living room so that my roommate and I can sit six feet apart and finally watch all of the Twilight movies.
Want to see more HCFSU? Be sure to like us on Facebook and follow us on Instagram, Twitter, TikTok, Youtube and Pinterest!