Over the past few years, the world around us has undergone changes faster than we can process. Global pandemics; televised wars; the decline of democracy as we know it—nothing is certain. Perhaps it never was.
There are times it feels as though the world has ceased to spin. While days fly by on a constant loop, we stand still in our unmoving orbit. And if it were possible to pinpoint the beginning of the end, I’m certain it would trace back to the year 2020.
We rang in the new year with a collective sense of uncertainty. Then another. Then another. We spent years in isolation, working and studying from home. And outside, behind every corner, there was an unmistakable presence of fear. I don’t believe that fear has gone away. At least not as gracefully and completely as we’d like.
The truth is that no person could survive the events of the past decade unaltered, and to pretend as though we have is ludicrous. Not only were we thrust into a life of abnormality, but we were expected to bounce back immediately, too. As if freedom and rehabilitation didn’t demand growth.
Some of us even viewed the COVID-19 lockdown as a sort of reprieve; a mini-vacation from the harsh demands of our day-to-day lives. I was one of them. Back then, I didn’t feel capable of keeping up with the world around me. I felt alone. I was alone. Then, suddenly, everyone else was, too.
I thought I was in my happy place. No social engagements, no human interaction. It was awesome! Then came 2022. No lockdowns, no excuses. I realized pretty quickly, then, that I had been in my comfort zone. Nothing happy about that place, let me tell you.
I learned the hard way that humans are not meant to be alone. And it was only when I started finding comfort in myself socially that I realized just how important it was to interact with the people around me.
The prosperity of community is essential to our well-being. It is not optional—it is vital. And I strongly believe that without the ritual of social practice, we’d be stagnant and purposeless.
Now, presently speaking, there is still so much aversion to human interrelation, even after the throes of the pandemic. We see connection and we reject it. We confuse separation for solitude. Some would even argue that a secluded life is the best life, that maintaining relationships is simply too much work.
To a point, I understand this line of thinking. We exist in an age of digital dominance, where everyone has access to anyone all the time. Perhaps isolation is a form of rebellion. Or, more accurately, perhaps isolation is a white flag flown above the heads of those who feel as though they’ve cheated the system by doing exactly what it wants.
There is nothing virtuous about being alone—truly alone. And while I do consider it essential to take some time for oneself, I also consider it essential to have someone to talk to when you feel you’ve finally had enough.
But throughout this decade, we’ve neglected that nuance. We’re so concerned with protecting our peace that we’ve completely closed ourselves off from meaningful opportunities. Following the COVID-19 pandemic, we failed spectacularly to re-establish our social practices. And I don’t blame us.
We spent years worrying about other people, feeling our safest when we were completely alone. We became wary of one another: reluctant, distrusting. We lost a level of understanding for social importance that had already been falling apart for years. And if you ever wonder why we haven’t found our way back, just take a look around. Take a look within.