The Reality of the Pandemic for an (Online) College Student
Art by Avery Zakocs
Who could have guessed how life would be turned upside down in the year 2020? As the effects of the pandemic grew larger and larger, I heard the phrase “the new normal” over and over at school and on the news. I had no idea what this “new normal” was, or why it was so hard to understand, but after ten long months, I get it.
The new normal is uncertainty.
I sat at home after being dismissed from high school, hoping that this whole mess would be over in just a few weeks and I’d return for the end of the year. I was hopeful, but uncertain. I received my diploma in the parking lot of my high school, smiling under my mask, and prayed that I would get to move into the dorms of my university months later. I was hopeful, but uncertain. I got through the fall semester of college from the desk in my bedroom, and waited to see if I would get to finally move in for spring. I was hopeful, but uncertain. Now, I sit again at my desk and greet my professors through my webcam on the first day of my second semester, wondering if maybe I’ll get to move in next fall. I am uncertain, and my hope is running out.
This cycle of being hopeful and let down has been taxing. Not being able to do anything about it has been worse.
After it became clear that this new way of life was more permanent than I had thought, I have done my best to adapt. But no matter how much I try to make the best of it, I can’t get used to sitting on Zoom for five or six hours a day, trying to stay focused on my professor’s pixelated face and distorted voice. At the end of each class, although I’ve hardly even moved, I feel exhausted, my eyes burning from the screen’s blue light. It becomes difficult to even get out of bed some mornings when I know that the day will consist of hours of online classes and nothing more. Just the same as the day before.
Lack of human interaction has proved to be one of the most difficult things to come from my new, modified college experience. While I used to dread working in group projects, every class I hope I can get put into a “breakout room” on Zoom simply so I can talk with fellow students, and have some sort of camaraderie in our shared situation. I think often about what would be happening if I were to be on campus, thinking about which of these classmates I’d walk back to my dorm building with, or grab coffee with while working on our projects. These simple tasks that I would have taken for granted as a part of normal college life seem so distant, and I long for them more than anything.
Many people have talked about their appreciation for those simple things in life increasing as a result of this pandemic, and I wholeheartedly agree. But while it is true that I will have a whole new outlook on life “once this is all over” (a phrase we are all sick and tired of hearing), I worry about the long term consequences that this new way of life has left on me and many others. Will my ability to interact and network with professors and professionals be hindered by the fact that I’ve only ever spoken with them through a screen? Will my study skills be permanently altered by the fact that I’ve had practically open access to any resource during tests and assignments? Am I going to find the motivation to get out of bed and get to class after months of rolling out of bed and on to my computer?
The biggest struggle I’ve had of all is a longing for the independence that I was previously guaranteed. My whole life I had looked forward to going off to college and learning how to live and thrive on my own. I have gotten through quite a few hard times in my life by thinking to myself that soon enough I would be able to go to college and have a fresh start, and do things on my own terms. When that guarantee became an uncertainty, I felt the opposite of independence. I felt, as I would venture to say we all did, controlled and helpless, at the mercy of something terrifyingly powerful.
But one day, a few months ago, I sat in a particularly long Zoom class. I listened to my professor ramble on, trying to interpret someone’s work that we were to give them feedback on. Between the professor’s thick southern accent, her interrogation of this one poor student, and the fact that we’d been in class for nearly 2 and a half hours, everyone in the class was trying to contain their hysterical laughter. I watched my classmates on camera barely holding it together as we texted in our group chat, making more jokes and repeating out of context phrases that the professor had said.
As I looked between my phone and our smiling faces on the screen, I noticed for the first time that I felt a real connection with my classmates. It was simply a moment in a rather dull and unexciting class, and with a group chat and some witty humor, it became my favorite moment in my entire college experience so far. After we were finally dismissed and exited the meeting, I sat back and thought about how something like that could never have happened if we were together in the classroom. That moment was a product of our circumstances, something random and accidental, but for me, it was beautiful. After several long and dark months, I could see the light shining from my classmates’ faces as we laughed together.
From then on, I looked for the moments like that one, no matter how small, that allowed me to see the light in the darkness. My classmate had a kitten in her lap during Philosophy class! I wore pajama pants under a nice blouse while presenting a speech! My dog kept me company while I worked on math homework! I made more of an effort to focus on what I could be grateful for now, rather than wallowing in what could have been.
By finding happiness during a time where it’s easier to feel defeated, I have taken back some of that control that I lost in my life. It doesn’t make everything better, but it sure as hell helps. I still remain uncertain about many aspects of my life, including whether everything will ever truly return to “normal”. But enjoying even the smallest happy moments in each day allows me to be certain of at least one thing:
I can get through it.
