Early & Alone #49: Future Nostalgia

I got a fanny pack. File that sentence under words I never thought I’d type. But I’ve seen too many cute bloggers sling fanny packs across their chests and look just ready to zip around, all hands-free. It’s getting to be jacket-free season (praise be!) but that means no pockets. Which is a real problem when I’m zipping around town (just kidding, I don’t do that anymore, I’m really just talking about walking in a circle around my building’s parking lot with Gizmo). I feel like the fanny pack will solve all my summer pocket-free problems. 

I’ve been doing a lot of online shopping the last couple of weeks. I’ve ordered new dishtowels, a wall hanging for my bedroom, two summer dresses from Boden, cute sneaks, and white jeans (the jeans don’t fit, so they will be going back). Oh, and I almost forgot about the skincare I bought from the Sephora sale. 

No, this hasn’t turned into a shopping newsletter (though that’s tempting…). I say all this because it feels like my own personal version of that “Nature is healing” meme that’s been circulating throughout the pandemic. After months and months of hiding in my apartment in sweatpants, it’s almost time to come out into the light. 

And I’m terrified. 

I got my first vaccine shot almost two weeks ago and have an appointment for my second dose two weeks from tomorrow. And I’m over-the-moon-grateful. My family is nearly fully-vaccinated, and most of my friends have at least started the process. It thrills me to see every shot selfie and tweet. 

And yet. 

The planning started early, then plateaued as the months stretched on and no one knew when the end would come. “When all of this ends, I’m going to hug everyone I see.” “When all this ends, I’m never saying no to another social engagement ever again.” “When all this ends, I’m going to travel the world.” It was like we were longing for a collective future utopia we weren’t quite sure we’d ever see. And we still don’t know, but at least it’s closer. 

Lately, the plans are in sharper focus. We attach dates, the two-week mark following our second shot, say we’re going to schedule a massage or take a trip to visit family or eat indoors for the first time since March 2020. It’s different for everyone. As for me, I’m trying to figure out a small outdoor hang for my birthday...even if that doesn’t happen, whatever I do will be an improvement from last year, when everything was still firmly on lockdown and it even snowed on my May birthday. 

I also just booked a hotel room and rented a sparkly dress for a dear friend’s belated wedding celebration in June. I can’t wait to dance and drink champagne and properly celebrate an amazing couple’s happiness. But at the same time...it’s a very real reminder that I will be alone at the wedding, and I will be in this body I’m not quite comfortable with, and I will be wearing makeup and shoes maybe with heels, and just feeling very on display for the first time in a long time. Rationally, I know no one will be looking at me or scrutinizing me and most of the people there will be strangers to me who have no idea what I looked like ten years ago or even ten months ago! But I know, and that’s the hard part. 

There’s something about going back out into the world that is scary to comprehend after this pause. While I can’t wait to be able to drink with friends at bars again and go out to eat at dim restaurants and go to concerts and movies and bookstores and cafes (ah I just got a shiver of excitement just THINKING of all those things), there’s also a scrim of fear surrounding it, like an invisible force field. 

The fear is more complicated than the excitement. The fear has layers. The fear is that I will still be unhappy. The fear is that I will still have nowhere to go, nothing to do on Saturday nights. The fear is that I will have something to do on Saturday nights but will find myself longing to be on the couch with Gizmo. The fear is that I will have to start dating again. The fear is that I will never date again. The fear is that I have grown too comfortable being alone. The fear is that I will not write again. The fear is that I will write again but no one will read it. The fear is that I will be able to go shopping again but nothing will fit or look right. The fear is that I can be a new person. The fear is that I will be the same. The fear is that this pause gave me an excuse to give up on myself a little too much. The fear is that there will be no more excuses when this is over and I will have just given up because I’m not good enough or strong enough or smart enough. The fear is that I will never be enough. 

The dresses I bought are cute and comfortable. They fit. But I was disappointed when I tried them on because I was still me in the mirror. Part of me expected that putting on a fun, flirty dress would magically transform me. And I’m afraid that I’m hoping the end (?!) of this lockdown will magically transform me and my life into something better, shinier, flirtier, more fun. There’s a little bit of a weird layer to this because I moved during the pandemic, so I’m not really sure yet what my post-pandemic life will look like here in this new city. 

The reality is that none of us knows what the future holds. We didn’t know even before we’d ever heard of COVID-19. We can never know. But it doesn’t hurt to hope for something better. Maybe it doesn’t even hurt to hope for magic. It can happen. But I think it’s important to also recognize that there is no magic cure of dealing with our fundamental realities. It’s like that famous quote, “No matter where you go, there you are.” 

Anyway, I am looking forward to figuring it all out. Even if I do have to wear a bra while doing it.