How Quarantine Made Me Come to Terms With What I *Actually* Want

Well, that’s a mouthful of a title, but it’s the truth. Quarantine has been lots of things for lots of people. For some, it’s been “the great pause” as I’ve heard it be named. A call to stop the hustle and bustle of the world, and fall back into a slower pace of life. Banana bread and sourdough starters, oh my.

For others, it’s been a harsh necessity—perhaps a loved one or they themselves have suffered health-wise from COVID-19. Whether these last four months have been bleak to you because you’ve lost your job, your health, your family, or your sanity (I don’t understand how parents are doing this, particularly parents with full-time jobs and young children who need constant attention), we’re all going through something life-altering. That’s for absolute certain.

I’ve so far been immensely lucky in that my family, my friends, my household is healthy. I’ve been blessed to have too much time on my hands to think about life, desires, “what’s next” rather than thinking about how the rent will be paid, or if a loved one will pull through. I wanted to preface everything with that because first and foremost, I recognize my current state of privilege.

My biggest “problem” since March has been being bored with cooking, being bored of looking out the window, being weighted down by the news and daily happenings in this country, pandemic-related and racially-related. I’m not downplaying the effect everything swirling around us all will have on our long-term mental health. I think about that often, actually. But to get out of the murk for a minute, there’s something else I’ve been pondering lately, and that’s that maybe, I actually have no idea what I “need” or that makes me “happy” in a general life sense. At least, I don’t think I did before now.

Let me explain.

Prior to the COVID-19 pandemic, there were some things on my mental list of “musts” for my life, and looking back, they all mostly revolved around the city I lived in serving me a particular lifestyle. Yes, I know how shallow (at best) that sounds.

As I’ve mentioned in the past—I’ll say it again here in case you’re not familiar—I lived nearly my entire life in Florida. I had convinced myself that the Sunshine State would never be enough, a tragic character flaw of mine. If I’m honest, I could have grown up just about anywhere, and it wouldn’t have been enough for me. I constantly craved newness, “grass is greener” syndrome I’ll call it. Central Florida, my hometown, is a land of chain restaurants, tourist attractions, giant malls and giant insects. As someone who likes mom-and-pop establishments, places with almost no people, and the complete eradication of cockroaches, you can see how maybe, just maybe, Florida and I weren’t the right fit for each other.

Charles and I trekked across the country to Los Angeles not because I was tired of eating at The Cheesecake Factory (that brown bread, though!), but, for the sake of this post, let’s say that landing in a new city with a bevy of local eateries, amazing culture, and almost no flying roaches was checking a lot of boxes.

But then the pandemic and quarantine happened. And there was no eating out for us (at least, not at first). There was no enjoying the local parks, the awe-inspiring nature of California, the “cool” things a city affords young, childless people who make a decent enough living. We do, however, still enjoy a mostly insect-free existence, so there’s that. Charles and I were eating boxed mac and cheese (shout out to Annie’s and your bomb white cheddar shells!), tuna sandwiches, and so.many.eggs. We were watching an immense amount of television. We were in our apartment, together, literally 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

Apart from the anxiety and the crippling sense of the unknown brought on by a novel disease strangling the lungs of the freaking human race, I was content, happy even. We were safe, we were taken care of, we had a home we loved. My days filled me with a sense of calm and security that frankly, surprised me. I wrote an essay in April about not wanting it all to end…back when I thought we’d be “set free” come May 15. HA.

Going through the doldrums of laundry, dishes, grilled cheese sandwiches and TV-induced laughter with Charles was enough for me. I didn’t actually miss any of the other stuff. Seeing friends and being around humans? Okay, yes, I did long for that. But the “lifestyle” of Los Angeles, eh, take it or leave it when it came right down to it. Being comfortable at home, my new ever-present surroundings left me surprisingly placid, and these things could be had no matter where I was on the map.

Being 3,000 miles away from my parents, my siblings, my nephews, my friends, however, left a giant hole in my very being.

While expensive and time-consuming, I could have relatively easily hopped on a plane to go home whenever I wanted or needed to. No jokes of “get your hazmat suit ready” needed. What at time. When that option was stripped away, well, no amount of Dave’s Hot Chicken could rectify what I actually needed. Food over family? Landscape over love? It just doesn’t add up anymore.

And no, this isn’t a revelation about how important family is. I’ve always known that, of course. What I didn’t know is how all the trappings I thought were so necessary for my contentment and fulfillment were a big, juicy fabrication I convinced myself of. A justification for always wanting something else? Possibly. Is it wonderful to have the option between beach or mountains or desert on any given Saturday? Yes. It’s spectacular really. But I don’t *need* it.

Now, when it’s all stripped away, I can see clearly that what makes me deep-down happy is a simple home-cooked meal, quality time with Charles, access to my family, and well, anything beyond that is just a nice-to-have, regardless of where I live. I’d like to think we all know this about ourselves, but it’s easy to be blinded by the “fluff.”

Every day and week brings with it new self-realization, and I welcome it. Steel is forged in the fire, as they say (and like, literally, it is). So while it certainly feels like the world—at least the US—is engulfed in flames of chaos and change, the bright spot for me is focusing on my relationship with myself, my life and what I want out of it all.

What about you? I’d love to know your stories and for anyone whose comfortable, share what they’ve been through in the past months. And as always, thanks for being here.