Dear journal,
March 7th 2020; A truly crazy night. Half my Contemporary Theory class pulled an all-nighter in Case Center, all scrambling to finish a paper that was due at noon the following day.
I remember the sheer delusional state I was in as I cranked out jumbled words about the social construction of time, the subjectivity of objects, and the… I don’t even remember. I remember walking to Kimball with my friend Maya at 2am to grab a bag of popcorn, only to come to the devastating conclusion that the microwave in Spa doesn’t even work. I remember blasting “Disturbia” by Rihanna to keep our morale high. I remember realizing that I had wasted an hour laughing, instead of writing. I remember watching the sunrise while consuming my 8th Cheezit bag of the evening. I remember googling “Coronavirus”, while still spelling it “Coronovirus,” the whole entire night.
But what I remember most, is the deep moment of reflection I had before my thirty minute night sleep on the hard and unforgiving couch in the ICC. I remember thinking about how far I had come socially at Skidmore. Something about that night: the laughs, the supportive hugs, the sheer chaos, made me feel the utmost gratitude. I made it through the grueling and lonely Friday nights, I made it through the many meals I consumed alone in the corner booth of the dining hall, and I made it through the endless abyss of snapchat stories posted by friends from home declaring how college was already the best time of their lives. I made it through a spike in my depression. I made it through the fifteen open internet tabs which all seemed to give me little clarity to the question I had typed into the search engine,“Should I drop out of college?” I made it through all of it. Now I had friends I loved. Professors I loved. Classes I loved. Everything was falling into place. I had found happiness at college. I was finally at home.
And then…
Boom.
That was the last night of my sophomore year at Skidmore.
September 29th 2020: Today’s date. I spent a fair amount of quarantine reflecting on the fact that Coronavirus started right as I became truly comfortable at Skidmore. It is something that angered me for a long time and led to me contemplating the question, “Am I simply not allowed to be happy?” But the more I’ve given this thought room to infiltrate my mind, the more I’ve learned that it is not true. I am allowed to be happy, it was just a matter of shitty timing. COVID is much bigger than me, and I need to recognize that.
Life happens
Now, I am so grateful to be back on campus for my junior year. It is crazy how wearing a mask, getting tested once a week, and going to class in a tent has become the unquestionable norm. Sometimes I beat myself up and ask myself why I did not enjoy certain things while they still existed: hugging my friends, going to SPA after a night at Putnam, sitting in a professor’s office, etc. I had so much.
What could I have possibly had to complain about?
I can’t think like this. College was difficult for me for the first 1.5 years, and I should respect myself enough to recognize that. I could not have predicted a global pandemic. I was dealing with the challenges that were presented to me at that time, and that is valid.
Yes, I wear a mask to class now. Yes, I can’t hug my friends. Yes, I go to class in a tent. But I am happy. I go on hikes and have picnics. I went paddle boarding the other weekend and made a fire with my housemates at the river.
It sucks that COVID happened, but maybe it taught me to appreciate college, and life in general, more.
I should stop overthinking.
Skidmore is home. Even in a pandemic. And that is that.
Love,
Caroline <3