The Trick to Surviving Hard Times

“In my dreams, I’m a year older, 23, financially independent, living abroad, and buying non-stringy avocados.”

That’s what reads in the first line of my journal entry for today.

I haven’t been writing nearly as much as I should be for my mental sanity these days, and that’s because it’s been hard for me to find meaning, purpose, or inspiration for much of anything.

My friends have been telling me for weeks to write – that writing is something that helps me, and it’s true. I haven’t wanted to document a second of this season of my life, but maybe I should – even if it’s just a little scribble.

So here I am. I’m trying, by sharing my side of the pandemic, hoping that it even if it does me no good – it’ll do someone good.

The past three months of my life have been my worst nightmare come to life.

I’ll tell you why. This will be our little secret for those who actually take the time to read my blog.

I just, “graduated” from college, and in June – I was supposed to move to Paris.

Yes. You read that right. Paris.

A city on a continent that I fell in love with instantly when I went for the first time when I was 18.

Back in March, no one really knew what was going to come of the coronavirus. Like many, I figured it was going to be a few weeks of staying at home, and then back to business as usual.

Shit… was I delusional.

I’ve had a hard time grieving the year that 2020 was supposed to be for me. What was supposed to be neatly wrapped up with a perfect little bow tie to match has turned into a continuously inexplainable catastrophe.

My last semester of college turned into a virtual classroom. My little business that I made of babysitting came to an abrupt close. The house that I spent time in to only sleep and eat became my only option.

I had to grieve one of those at a time, which I eventually did. As we approach the final quarter of the year, now 22: a recent college grad, still unemployed and stuck at home – it’s gotten easier for me to accept that 2020 just wasn’t the year I imagined it would be.

I say that now, but I could wake up tomorrow with a different narrative. Some days I tell myself it’s okay to be a couch potato, watching Taylor Swift’s documentary on Netflix for the second time this year at noon on a Wednesday because I did crazy things for the past three years – and never took any time to pause in between them all.

Other days, it’s really hard. March & April were so different because I had more of a set routine. I would get up for school at the same time, go to class, do my homework, take a walk, and call a friend for an hour as everyone was still confined to their homes. But now, as jobs, school, and social actives resume to some degree – it’s a new ballgame that I don’t know how to play.

The people in my immediate world are going back to their lives one way or another, while I’m stuck reading these awkward in between pages of my life. It’s not comparing or jealously per say; it’s just that it’s not March or April anymore. I can’t call someone different every day anymore, and I can’t expect people to feed my extroverted needs when they have their own lives to live again.

What’s made this blow so difficult to bear is the fact that I was so close. 2019 was already a trying year for me, and I was ready for 2020 to welcome me with open arms and an abundance of hope.

I don’t share too much of my private life behind my bubbly persona – but there were a lot of things I’ve been waiting for my entire life that would have been achieved with this move, and now – it’s out of my control.

Much of my life has felt like me climbing up a hill. Sometimes, I found a rhythm – grasping onto one cliff and fitting my foot just right into another rock, looking up to see the sun in sight with motivation to keep climbing. Other times, I felt myself slipping further down from that hill – just struggling to clutch onto something that would make sense or provide a reason to persevere. I’ve been lucky enough that I’ve felt moments of true peace and happiness sitting at the top of that hill.

I just feel like I haven’t had enough of them.

Those moments were always temporary and short-lived. This move was supposed to be the start of a sweet fragment of time – the calm before the inevitable, numerous more storms to come – where I could just sit at the top of that hill, look at the view, and breathe.

After a tumultuous 15 months, I thought the worst was finally behind me come January when I went to Japan. I saw the top of the hill, I could almost touch it – and then bam. Cue the coronavirus. I fell all the way back down, and I’ve been scramming to find ways for my feet to find the Earth again before starting the journey up there all over again.

I’ve been saying that this is the darkest time of my life, but the truth is – I’ve had worse times. Middle school was a particularly atrocious time. Thinking back to those days, my 13-year-old self spent a lot of time daydreaming about the future.

I’d google schools I would go to on the east coast just to move away once I turned 18. I’d pretend to custom design a Honda-Civic that I would drive one day. I’d listen to songs and think about what I would be like when I was as old as the artist singing them.

I’m hard on myself. I’m impatient, and I never give myself a break. I want big things, and with that – grand disappointment may always be my company. When your wildest dream is hanging on a cloud of uncertainty, it’s hard to want to dream about anything ever again. I mean, how do you keep going when you’ve got nothing left to give?

I’ll tell you.

You dream some more.

Maybe to have everything, you have to lose everything first. When we feel low, we often feel stuck in the past – and maybe the best (though paradoxical) way out of it is to dwell in the future.

Don’t get me wrong, the present is unique and imperative, but sometimes you have to do things just to get you through: and to fantasize about the future might be an escape that is too distant to be immediately dangerous, but still close enough that it’ll help the current time look like a smaller part of the picture you’re still painting.

I am indeed a believer in the universe and things working out the way they’re supposed to. It’s been true so far; I never look back and wish differently.

So, I’ll sit in my house on a Tuesday, eating dairy ice cream for dinner because I can, and I’ll dream. I’ll dream about the day I don’t have to drive a car, about the day I don’t wake up to superfluous bickering, and the day where I live in France: where I can walk to le supermarché and buy avocados fresh before they’ve gone bad.

And bread. Never forget about the baguettes.

I’ll dream about the day I’m standing on that bridge finally telling him how I feel. I’ll dream about the day international travel is possible again, when I’ll hop on a plane to South Africa for two weeks since I’ll have five weeks of vacation time. I’ll dream about the kind apartment I’ll buy in Paris one day. I’ll dream about the day when (maybe, just maybe) I’ll publish a book or find success as an American YouTuber living in Paris and traveling the world.

I’ll dream about the day where I’ll finally feel free.

Because dreams do come true – and I know it, because I’ve lived to see it.

I’ll live to see it again.

And so will you.