Riding the pandemic in your twenties – a true rollercoaster
Did you see what I did there? ‘Thirty, Flirty & Thrivi-‘ yes, I know, my humour is painfully subpar, and creativity levels are working at around a 3/10. And there you have it – the perfect introduction to Nat, the pandemic version.
I can’t BELIEVE we are 10 months down the line and this is the first piece of writing I’m throwing out there. I apologise profusely if it seems bleak at any point but I’m going to try and create a bit of a shit sandwich effect. Erm, yes, the title is to be considered as the first piece of bread. Stay with me here, the only way is up (at least the finale should be, so maybe skip to that part if you are struggling already).
So yes, first part of the pandemic problem- creative writers block. I didn’t reallllly get this one. As a well known (to my Mum, Great Aunt, and other random Facebook friend I added on the train after a heart to heart and M&S tinny) poet, it is clear that my creative levels and ability to pump out a poem a day falls hand in hand with one glorious state of mind – sadness. And come on – solo single pity party pandemic – surely the perfect muse?
Apparently not. It appears, without seeing beyond the four walls of my room, I was stumped. Not even the face of an ex through the hazy window of houseparty in the early hours could shape a sad sonnet. Damn. Can’t even rely on that old chestnut anymore.
Some may say a writer can look anywhere and find inspiration. And I guess we do have some pandemic staple points. It’s just an acrostic poem on banana bread feels like a cheap version of Hollaback Girl.
I’m not the only one either. So many friends have expressed their distress at not being able to produce art after being given what seemed the perfect poets paradise – peace, quiet and the forced separation between their lips and their happy hour subscription.
I can’t begin to tell you the amount of people whom, upon hearing I was on furlough, told me ‘You have plenty of time to achieve so much!’. It felt as though I should have been creating the next Ulysses, but in reality, I could barely cough up a couplet. With the further intensified pressure on our social media spotlighted generation of high flying achievers to be productive in our new found unlimited realm of time, my creativity was naturally, stifled.
It’s a pattern that seems to be affecting a LOT of young creatives, and it’s one that is both frustrating, but logical. Art imitates life (although I prefer Wilde’s anti-mimesis being the Del Rey ~dramatic~ queen that I am), so, when our sense of ‘life’ is swept from under our feet, it’s no wonder we feel empty headed.
My take away from this was that a RIDICULOUS amount of cultural development does in fact, happen at the pub.
As does the flirting.
Welcome to my second point – being single in your twenties in a pandemic.
Rewind to March 2020. Have invested in a fair few months of focusing on myself. After all, I’m 24, not quite out the door.
BAM.
Pandemic.
A few harmless flirts with ghosts of the past was the first outlet. Innocent, fun, 24 year old behaviour. Single, but content, because, well everyone else, other than the long termers, is single too. No FOMO, no worries, all is well.
Along comes 25. The midlife crisis. Oh, woe is me. Firstly, pierces nose, cuts a fringe, and gets first three tattoos in one go. See, still young and fun and spontaneous. Impulsive queen strikes again. *Googles how to freeze eggs*.
How on EARTH are we meant to meet someone now??? The FOMO sets in as the fellow single soldiers who aren’t highly allergic to Bumble (not the bee) somehow build a RELATIONSHIP through their phone and distanced walks.
How on EARTH (I reiterate) may someone like I, who gets the ick after date 3 with someone I’ve met organically (in a pub, not online or in a field), successfully secure a husband in this climate?
Spinsterhood prevails. However, the end goal of a one bed spinster flat with 5 cats isn’t even in my reach.
Point three. Stuck in a cycle of cruising.
As mentioned above, we are the social media spotlighted generation of high flying achievers. And my god doesn’t that cause you pain as you cruise through a pandemic. Millennials such as myself have battled the pains of wanting to confidently climb the career ladder, reaching milestones, earning promotions and big titles that reflect our driven work ethic. We aren’t the generation who settle, we are the generation that is always striving for more. Perhaps it is due to the pressures of the much sought after LinkedIn congratulations, perhaps it is due to the ever rising price of housing that doesn’t correlate with salaries, but I think a lot of it comes down to the pressures of wanting to prove to ourselves our own self-worth.
Deep.
I wanted to end on that because it actually can be turned in to a positive. Do you know what, all of it can. Each of my three points of crisis have one overarching word in common: experience.
The experience of this pandemic has made me create this somewhat goofy, yet somewhat enlightened reflection that counts as writing. AND it isn’t the usual heartbreak hotel hymns, it is actually a rather grounded shit sandwich.
The experience of this pandemic has also sobered me (no, not that kind of sober but I did do sober November and I am doing damp Jan). Now perhaps when I can actually meet a real life person, they will be on my maturity level because I FINALLY understand and acknowledge what I am looking for and what I deserve.
And finally, the experience of this pandemic has stretched me professionally in ways that can only benefit my future career and my respectability as a grounded coworker and team player.
Perhaps this issue with my generation is that we are always in a rush to complete the next milestone, to move on to the next goal, without truly gaining the golden piece that is experience.
Experience means everything, and experience is what we have finally achieved.
And I’m ONLY 25. Again I will thrive.
njm. 