Solitude isn’t so bad, But I sure could use a hug: Pandemic Year 1
It was a slap in the face. My long time partner told me he fell out of love with me and checked out a while ago. It was our eight year anniversary. That afternoon, the news declared all events were cancelled and the world would go on lockdown to slow the spread; it was insult to injury. That was a year ago this week, not long after the WHO named the rapid spread of the novel coronavirus a pandemic. I was left sitting on the bed with my heart breaking in my hands and no where to go.
It’s hard to find a new place to live during the first weeks of a global pandemic so I stayed in a loveless house. We worked from home, but work slowed, hours were cut, and anxiety increased as we were forced to face our breakup - which was ultimately caused by a breakdown in communication over a period of months. In time, I moved out of the house we shared together and into my own place. This will be the first time I live alone and it stirs mixed emotions.
Living alone isn’t so bad, I actually quite like it. Except when I don’t have human contact for weeks on end, which is more a side effect of the pandemic than solo life. I hadn’t realized how much I missed human touch until I read this essay.
My heart broke again when my grandmother died in December. She was one of my favorite people and my best friend. I didn’t hug her the last time I saw her. We sat on opposite sides of her living room and wore masks as we caught up on life. I’ve hugged her every day in my head since.
I’ve missed human touch more than anything. God, the number of times I could have used a good hug! It wouldn’t have changed anything, but I might have felt an ounce of comfort somewhere along the way. It’s hard to go through hard times alone.
On the other side of that coin is sometimes, we perform well under pressure. For me, I think it’s been a good time to go inward, scary as it was. I find myself going on long walks, where I found my heart healing itself in nature and fresh air. I’ve found it quite cathartic to cry and grieve freely in my own space during a year of many transitions and growing pains. Having already spent years in therapy, I found being in my head not as scary as I used to. I didn’t expect that, but I suppose that’s what growth looks like.
Throughout the heartbreak of the last year, I found I was able to focus on the things I want, the kind of life I want, the art I want to make, the nonprofit I’m building. I can talk about compost all day and practice the mouth trumpet with my two cats and they don’t care. It’s been a good time to embrace my weirdness because the whole world’s gone mad anyway and I’m not sure there are many rules right now. I have comfort in solitude when I wasn’t sure it was possible, and while I could still really use a good hug, I am thankful for that.
The opportunity to start anew has been a beautiful thing.
