Well, it's been one year since we went into lockdown at work. While it took a bit of adjustment at first, I came to love it and I dreaded having to return to the way things were.
Thing is, none of us was in any hurry to return to the office full time. But as I wrote previously, our society is too entrenched in the thought of getting everything back to "normal," that any lessons we might've learned, or insights we gained over the past year in regards to doing things differently have been tossed out the window.
The old "normal" wasn't working, but we'll be damned if we make any changes.
Remember how nice it was those first few weeks? Little to no traffic on the streets? The quiet outside? The fact that wildlife was—albeit cautiously—returning to our urban enclaves?
Sure, nothing was open and we were all with a heightened sense of caution regarding pretty much everything we came in contact with outside our home (Ben and I still carry hand sanitizer in our cars, something that—along with our religious mask wearing while outside our home—has undoubtedly attributed to the fact neither one of us has gotten any of our usual winter respiratory infections this year), but for us personally, it was a welcome respite from the madness that had been society previously.
I enjoy getting up an hour later than I had been prior to COVID. I don't miss the commute. I appreciate the added security of being home when packages are delivered. And lord knows the dogs have certainly grown used to (probably codependently so) me being home. I think they're going to have the hardest time readjusting.
I can't afford to retire for another four years at minimum, so we stumble back to what we were all doing a year ago, acting like nothing happened at all over the past twelve months to possibly—just possibly—move us all in a different direction.
And that makes me sad.