I’ll be the first to admit it: when I received the email—the email I knew was coming but still wasn’t prepared for—saying that we would not be returning to Notre Dame for the rest of the semester, I cried my eyes out. I felt as if the end of my sophomore year had been yanked out from underneath me. I acknowledged the fact that it was going to be hard for me to be at home and not on campus—my happiest place, with the people upon whom I have come to depend.
But after this rush of thought, I found myself feeling incredibly guilty. And selfish. I knew many others had it much, much worse; Coronavirus is hurting and devastating our world in much more drastic ways I cannot even begin to fathom. My inability to return back to Notre Dame to complete my sophomore year wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to me. But then, my sister gave me a hug and told me she was sorry. “It’s not the end of the world,” I replied, trying my best to think positively about the whole situation. “Yeah, but it’s not a good part of the world, either. You’re allowed to mourn the loss of things that matter to you,” she said in response.
So, I let myself mourn. I allowed myself to feel sad about cancelled events I was looking forward to, about projects I loved ending, about not being able to hug my friends until who knows when. I acknowledged this sadness, tried to let go of those guilty feelings; and then, I attempted to shift my perspective. I tried to look positively at the situation: I can finally clean out my bedroom at home; I can read; I can make my way through my neverending “Movies To-Watch” list. I can hang out with my family and my dog; I can eat my mom and dad’s cooking; I can be home when my little sister opens her Notre Dame admissions letter (she got in!!).
But this doesn’t mean I don’t feel sad and overwhelmed about everything going on in our world anymore, because I do. I still feel bored spending long days at home. I still feel upset about what I’m missing out on. Some days, my family drives me absolutely insane. And I still feel scared, especially for all those who have it worse than me. But I have found that looking for hopeful spots makes it all a little easier, and watching communities come together in different ways has given me that hope. A family friend’s birthday was a few days ago, and all of her friends decorated their cars with signs and balloons and drove by her driveway. Each of the houses in my neighborhood has a drawing of a rainbow stuck in a window for young kids to look for while on walks. Teachers are dropping off games and puzzles for families without any. Nurses and doctors are working tirelessly and selflessly. All little pockets of hope.
Quarantine has also reminded me to not take anything for granted, and how important it is to savor all the little things, because they really are the big things. I miss everything about being at Notre Dame: insane sunsets on the way to dinner, chocolate chip cookies in NDH, laughing so hard it hurts on a random Tuesday night. Daily trips to Starbucks with my best friend, cranking the music before going out, playing soccer on the days it reached 50 degrees. And I even miss the things I used to complain about: the lack of berries in the dining hall, stress about school, nights with no sleep. I’ve realized how now, I wouldn’t mind any of them, because at least it would mean I was back at Notre Dame.
I hope everyone reading this recognizes the fact that it’s okay to be sad about things they have to miss out on, and that they are now reminded of just how precious every second of life is. Remember to think about and pray for all those who are putting their lives on the line, and for all of those negatively affected by this pandemic. But then look for the silver linings and the ways we as humans are rising up together in a time of distress, uncertainty and panic. Find peace in the fact that the danger will pass, and we will all come together again. You’ll get to hug your loved ones and you’ll see full shelves at the grocery stores. You’ll have new ways to live and dream and heal. Keep looking for the pockets of hope.
