Multimedia Package by Eliza Noe
When the university told students that we weren’t coming back after our extended Spring Break, I wasn’t sure what to think. I was upset for my friends who were seniors, but I assumed that when it came time for my senior year in the fall, the pandemic would be over. I was wrong.
I think it’s easy to look at the face-value changes that the pandemic has caused: the room capacity limits, required masks, staying six feet away from others and stores running out of toilet paper and cleaning supplies. However, I think we often forget the emotional and psychological toll it’s taken.
It is weird to not only see a shift in the world around me, but also one in myself. Before all of this, I was a decent student. Now, I flinch when I see a Blackboard notification. I ignore my email inbox until I have to apologize to people profusely for ignoring their messages. It’s hard to physically get out of bed when there’s quite literally no reason to leave my house. Being a young adult is scary enough, but I think this has escalated every overwhelming feeling I’ve had in the past eight months.
My dad, a public school teacher in a district that does not require masks, updated his will and life insurance before returning to work in August. It seems like every time I log onto Twitter, journalists are tweeting about the latest media layoffs.
I remember daydreaming about my senior year as an underclassman. In theory, I would have been putting together daily newspapers, going through senior traditions, and planning last hoorahs with my friends whom I’ll rarely get to see after we graduate. Maybe in another universe, that’s what I’m doing. It has been hard giving up these expectations and even harder coming to terms that post-graduation plans are more uncertain than I thought.
Oxford is a shell of what I remember it being. The eerie silence on campus is disheartening; the sidewalks that used to be packed during class changes are quiet. When I have check-ins with my psychiatrist, she usually asks if I have anything exciting to look forward to, and I have to break it to her that the entire world is — still — on pause.
We both laugh.
Despite all of this, however, I have learned how to celebrate the small victories. I finished this semester without failing a course even though I am absolutely horrible at remote learning. We finished a successful semester at The Daily Mississippian without completely destroying all of the work we put in last year.
Being grateful for what I still have is something that keeps me going. I still have a job, which helps pay my rent and utilities. None of my loved ones have gotten the virus. Some of my friends still live in Oxford, so we plan Zoom parties and distanced meetings in Lamar Park.
Though it is not what I wanted, this is my new normal. I’ll take it in stride and hope for the best. I think that’s about all I can do.
