On Moving Into A Studio Apartment In The Middle Of A Global Pandemic
Growing up, I was taught that my hometown should be my entire world. It had everything I thought I needed: quality public education, fun activities, scenic places, and a few groups of friends who helped shape my personality. Despite all the ingredients for a “perfect” childhood, this place felt stagnant. I wasn’t sure what scared me more: the predictable future I imagined for myself in my hometown or the fact that I was the only one who felt this way?
There was a whole world that existed outside the city limits and state lines. The unknowns of that world enticed me to leave the nest and build a community of my own in Washington, D.C.
Like many others, I had big city dreams. My North Carolina-sized bubble was ready to burst and I wanted to move out from the sheltered life created by my parents and forge my own unique experience in the world. I was ready to meet new people from various places. I wanted to challenge many of the beliefs I grew to know as my own truths. I recognized that the nature of many friendships would change with distance, but I knew there were great things waiting ahead. I was ready to tackle this challenge.
And so I did.
The struggles of city assimilation made me grateful for my new “built-in” friends at home: my roommates. Our living room fostered conversations of nightly debriefs of our workdays or frequent game nights. The three of us relied on each other for support, advice, and friendship throughout a transitional time. Our bond strengthened in the beginning months of quarantine. I didn’t realize that I took these relationships for granted until I moved into my first solo space.
The idea of living alone excited me under normal circumstances. A home to myself would serve as a respite from a stressful day at work. However, extended periods of pandemic isolation proved to be more than I could handle at times. I began experiencing the same feelings of loneliness that stirred my initial desire to leave home.
But this time I couldn’t leave.
What was once a refuge from a stressful day of work that quickly became a trap. My notion of “home” changed quickly as the unknowns of the virus uprooted my job, friendships, routines — my everyday life.
What I missed most were the interactions I experienced during my commute to and from work. From sleepy hellos to my roommates in the morning as we hurried through the kitchen to catch the metro, to cordial waves to the doorman as I left the office at night, I was surrounded by connection. These seemingly insignificant moments that gave me life were quickly stripped or transformed into digital disconnect.
I tried to stay positive despite gloomy projections. The unwelcome monotony of my indoor prison set in. Overworked and underpaid, I lived, ate, and slept with my job. Time outside was limited, sporadic, and stressful. Isolation was taking its toll on me.
Desperate for fresh air and a break from the monotony of work inside, I stepped out onto my dimly-lit balcony to decompress. I noticed the small light of a burning cigarette below me and decided to extend a warm, southern hello. My greeting was well-received, considering I couldn’t see who I shouted to. I learned that my neighbor and his family had recently moved up from South Carolina. As native southerners, we proceeded to compare time spent in the Bible Belt before the conversation casually closed. We said our goodbyes and I walked inside with a renewed sense of connection.
A few days later, the same family knocked on my door with a savory pot of chili in hand. I was overwhelmed with gratitude that someone had gone out of their way in a pandemic to make me feel welcomed in my new home. Their thoughtfulness offered me much-needed hope that connections were still possible despite isolated conditions.
And the connections and friendships continued as I met surrounding neighbors from their balconies. We would quietly greet each other in the morning with a toast of our coffee mugs and unwind watching — together but separate — the sun set over the trees. We began exchanging recipes and watering each other’s plants in their owner’s absence.
And as the uncertainties of the pandemic grew, so did my reliance on these neighborly bonds.
I used to think that community was found outside of ourselves and not something that we could create. But community, though challenged in times of isolation, is all around us.
We just have to look.
