That time in your life when your family are your friends

Everyone has that story of where they were March of 2020 as they received their first hint that something was about to change. We have heard them over and over again in the last year during our socially distanced gatherings around a table that is not big enough to hold six people all sitting ten feet apart while still properly utilizing it as a table, or over a post-vaccine-life cocktail in an outdoor bar space as we’re already starting to forget what a hellscape this past year has been. As for me, I left an English class on the second floor of my university’s Italian building on Monday, March 9th and walked out onto the street thinking about the previous hour’s chatter as it was not about Elena Ferrante’s novels, but rather this ominous and uncertain future that was laid out before us. It was a spectacularly beautiful day in Manhattan as it always seemed to be right before I left it. My mom did not answer the phone when I called on my walk home, so I sent a text: “Call me when you can. There’s talk we might not come back after spring break” 

In the previous month, I saw two comedy shows and four plays, took a train to DC for 24 hours to network, walked the Brooklyn Bridge with my college best friend and our mothers in the snow, had Sunday brunch once or twice, took a boozy painting class and so much more. By the time February had passed, I felt like I was done with college. As if the last thing to look forward to in my four-year stint in New York City was to graduate and leave it. No matter how much I dreamed of New York and loved its promise of diversity and opportunity when I was younger, New York City, to me, felt cramped, anxiety inducing and exhausting—I’ve always been a bit of an insomniac and believe it or not if both the city and you never sleep, you are not kindred spirits, you are enablers.  So, when we got the email saying we were leaving early and would not be coming back after spring break I was honestly fine-- I could discuss contemporary Italian Literature from home for a while. We didn’t know at that point that graduation would not happen for us, the post-grad employment situation was going to be a real problem, and we would worry about our families and when and if we would see our friends again for many months. But when they sent the email, I at least, was ready to leave. 

When we received the email that Monday night telling us to go home, leave the city if we could, and that we would not be back for at least a few weeks, likely more, friends from home texted me showing some sympathy for the dissolution of my senior spring, but suspecting that they themselves would be fine. After all, we were only leaving New York because it was crowded, and the virus had already taken its place there, but their isolated midwestern universities would not be affected at all. It’s wild how many times we can be so wrong over the course of a year, especially a year in which the phrase “once in a lifetime” gets thrown around as much as it has been.

So that Wednesday morning at 6 am, I got on a plane that was less than half full with my Nintendo Switch that I, in an accidentally brilliant stroke of luck, bought a week before the shutdown with the anticipation that the new Animal Crossing was about to come out, and I had some free time on my hands to revel in updated versions of games from my childhood. I stole a handful of disinfecting wipes from my roommate on my way out the door and shoved them in a plastic bag as, at that point, CVS and bodega shelves in the city had been wiped clean of sanitizing products for weeks. I sat the whole flight, maskless, with the baggie of these wipes on my lap, not yet sure if any of these precautions could save me from falling ill 5-14 days down the line. When I arrived home, I showered and immediately threw my clothes in the wash. Within 48 hours, as schools and offices began to shut down everywhere, my older brother, whose Manhattan apartment was three blocks away from mine, was also on a 6 am flight back to his childhood bedroom for the months to come. 

Once my brother was home, we shut down completely. Not knowing much about how this virus spread and worried for the health of our family, nobody left the house for months, all packages received a mandatory three-day quarantine in the garage, and groceries delivered to our car were to be wiped before they could be put in the fridge (this particular precaution was for the most part abandoned after my brother witnessed his girlfriend’s mom wipe an onion with a disinfecting wipe and realized that may not be entirely safe for consumption). In these months, my college graduation came and went without much pomp and circumstance. There was a bottle of Champagne popped, my name scrolled across the TV screen once for about a second and a half, we watched some prepared videos of nurses and doctors in their scrubs speaking of the “once in a lifetime unprecedented circumstances” we were experiencing, and I went to cry in bed the rest of the day. 

Now, I should take this moment to say I consider myself incredibly privileged. For starters, I had a childhood bedroom to go back to indefinitely, a yard that offered space to social distance, fresh air, and I did not have student loans to worry about as finding a more permanent job would prove difficult over the coming months. However, I came to realize that there’s something that, while understandable, feels vaguely embarrassing about living in my childhood bedroom having my parents decide based on COVID numbers in our area when it is and when it is not dangerous to my health and others’ to order a Chipotle from down the street. 

When you are unemployed for months, I would imagine it’s not uncommon to constantly look for ways to be simultaneously productive and not productive at all with constant attempts to better yourself. In my case, I took the GRE, purchased my first sketchbook, crocheted two blankets, read 16 books in 4 weeks, taught myself audio editing, learned to bake bread, tie dyed some masks, interned for a congresswoman, played around with photoshop, applied to over 250 jobs, and walked dogs on Rover. On the other hand, I did a lot of sitting around, watching bad TV, feeling useless and hating myself for seeming unproductive-- for not starting a novel, or completing my poetry thesis project from college that I never quite finished because I found the pandemic both anxiety inducing and uninspiring for new work while expiring my old ideas and rendering them a useless way to view the world. Days are filled with the anxieties of “where to nexts” and “what ifs,” and nights are filled with this feeling that no matter how I spend my time, maybe I am just not good enough for anything. 

The other issue I found when you are unemployed and experiencing a global pandemic just out of college is this constant stream of unsolicited advice from friends, family, strangers, and people trying to relate to this feeling you’re having. “You’re not alone in this” was thrown around a lot. Let me just say that doesn’t help. Of course, I know I am not alone in this. But the idea of most of my college class and millions of others being left in the same boat of a shattered job market and ceaseless self-worth issues as I am is shockingly no comfort to me. “I also graduated in a recession, just give it time” is another a common refrain. I don’t know who needs to hear this, but a global pandemic is not just a recession. Sure, one leads to another, but the primary issue here is not the economic downfall. Finally, there is the load of constantly repeated meaningless words and pieces of advice often quoting or misquoting organizational psychologist Adam Grant about casting a wide net, taking initiative and reaching out to recruiters, seeking informational interviews to ask for guidance, and asking the right questions. All not necessarily bad advice but almost always unsolicited and unoriginal. “Oh yes, I told you I have been looking for a job for fifteen months and you told me I should utilize LinkedIn. Thank you, that’s great advice and absolutely unheard of.” 

Now, I knew those people who said your twenties are the best part of your life were wrong, but I didn’t realize they were this wrong. When my mom and I watched the Friends reunion just a couple weeks ago, the creators of the show, when speaking about bringing together the iconic company said something along the lines of, “we wanted to recreate that time in your life when your friends were your family” to which my mom jokingly turned to me and said, “you’ve invented a new period in your twenties when your family are your only friends.” Funny? Yes. Hurtful? Maybe a little. 

Not many people have the opportunity to graduate college and really evaluate and reevaluate where they see themselves five, ten, or fifteen years down the line. It gave me the opportunity to realize what I absolutely don’t want to do and what I would most want to do, so no matter how often it feels this way, I don’t think I’m leaving this phase of my life with nothing. However, it’s not over yet. I’m hoping to one day be able to complete this stream of thoughts without saying the words “in the end, I’m still living in my childhood bedroom,” but for now I am. I’m still applying to many jobs that have over 100 applicants, setting up 30-minute video calls with the bosses of friends of friends to ask for guidance, and trying to garner some form of human connection outside of the environment I grew up in. So, for now, I’m still in my childhood bedroom with the answer to the question “what’s next?” yet to come.