Watching the sunset with my best friend as she sits six feet away at the park. Playing online cribbage with my grandfather as we banter over the phone. Taking walks around the neighborhood with my mom and paddleboarding with my dad on the lake behind our house. Laughing with my cousins on a Zoom call.
These little moments have characterized my growth since in-person schooling ended and quarantine began. Slowly, as time at home progressed from an extended spring break to a stay-at-home order, I developed these habits to find my peace in the chaos of the age of quarantine. Despite the high school activities I’ve missed out on, I’ve found unexpected value in this global event.
I’m now able to spend more time with my family, from quickly popping in during the day, between work calls and classes, to playing Cards Against Humanity and Rummikub. We’ve even started a new routine long missing in the rat race of our busy lives: a real sit-down dinner every Friday night. Even sitting six feet apart on a stolen break from the monotony, I can see my best friend’s smile from behind her sunflower face mask as we talk about nothing in particular and watch the colors play out in the sky. Talking to my family by video chat gives me the opportunity to see them even more often than I did before I was forced away from them. Before the coronavirus was so topical, using technology to socialize was criticized for devaluing face-to-face interactions, but it has become our saving grace. While being confined to our bedrooms, technology gives us the reach we can no longer get from our arms.
I miss those hugs I’d get whenever I’d see my friends, but GIFs sent in their place have become a new source of comfort. I miss being able to joke with my classmates at school, but social media catches me up on their lives without having to hear about it in the whispered conversations meant to avoid our teachers’ glare. I hate not being able to go to prom, but I know I’ll wear my dress another day, and we can save the money Mom was going to shell out for that limo.
When I sit here now and look back over the past few months, instead of visualizing all those things I lost, I see myself sprawled out on the kitchen floor, unable to hold myself up from the sheer force of my giggles, attempting to continue the conversation with my sister, despite the unintelligible nonsense of half words shouted between fits of laughter. I see myself sitting across from my best friend, whose lanky legs are swinging in time to the indie rock playing on Spotify as we watch the sun go down. I see myself attempting to talk her through how to do a cartwheel from a distance, which was significantly harder than I expected. I see myself finishing my AP classes despite the hurdles technological glitches threw in my path. I see my smile instead of my regrets, and that’s the way I want to continue to remember this time in my life—for what it’s given me, not what it’s taken away.