Natalie Brink

So we’re all stuck inside. I flip between relishing in social-isolation and pining for attention from anyone who isn’t part of my immediate family, considering we’re all pushing each others’ buttons. I’m torn between marveling at the scope of this pandemic and feeling like Bill Maurry in “Groundhog Day.” I want so desperately to use this precious time to do what I’ve never had the time for, but I also just want to have a Pixar movie marathon in between the hours I spend on Instagram and Tik Tok.

Before I became numb to the utter monatiny of self-isolation, I was very productive. I hiked the trails right behind my house I had never seen before. I learned how to navigate my way back home via a snarled map of winding trails because many sign posts indicating the trail names were blank or had vanished. I took time to notice interesting wild plants and fungi, listen to bird songs and watch crawfish scuttle around in the creeks. I taught myself embroidery. I’m very slow, but it took my mind off the horrific stories arising from the coronavirus. I even started to read the “Iliad,” which I had downloaded onto my phone a year ago, when I read the first sentence and then immediately closed my book app, never reopening it until now. The first week of self-isolation taught me how to appreciate things I never had appreciated before.

When the second week hit, everything came to a grinding halt. Netflix had never looked so enticing. Everything in the world was getting worse, so what if I could embroider? My creativity froze over as I began to feel numb. Not even the wildly popular, wildly insane Netflix original documentary “Tiger King” could hold my attention.

I did  not find myself disappointed at the news of prom being cancelled or the very likely possibility of graduating high school without a ceremony. It’s just high school. I have a whole life to lead afterward, and to me, that will be infinitely more important than prom or graduation.

I feel guilty about wasting so much time passively laying on my bed, couch or kitchen floor watching “Tiger King” or trying to invoke nostalgia through “Beauty and the Beast” or “Mulan.” I have an infinite arsenal of knowledge at my fingertips. I may not be able to go out in public, but I can do pretty much anything: read any book, learn how to juggle, (virtually) tour art museums and so much more. Throughout all of history, who has had these opportunities? And yet, I still haven’t even managed to do laundry, and I have no idea what day it is.

Maybe, if I can break out of this rut, I can do something productive, like starting to draft a novel. I shouldn’t concern myself with trying to do everything. Maybe, during this period of self-isolation we all do one thing — just one — that makes us proud of ourselves. We all need a little speck of brightness, a little speck of hope.