The Start of a New Normal

I stopped writing my quarantine chronicles back in June when the quarantine was “technically” over. There was never an official end date, but Governor Cuomo’s moving speech during his final daily COVID-19 press briefing on June 19 sure felt like it. Those briefings, and Cuomo’s sound presence, had oddly become a source of comfort to me during the pandemic. But New York’s numbers were finally down, and the city was slowly reopening. It was around that time that Jean and I started venturing outside the walls of our apartment more and more. We began dining outdoors, going to the beach, taking taxis, and seeing friends little by little. The first time we invited another couple over for dinner felt slightly awkward, but quickly our old habits returned. We even started traveling again and drove down to North Carolina to spend a week working from the Outer Banks. Of course, my bachelorette in London was canceled, but instead, we decided to go to Chicago for the 4th of July weekend. We were riding on a wave of positivity, and though we knew flying wasn’t recommended, we were prepared to take the risk. I had never seen LaGuardia so empty and desolate as I did that weekend, and probably never will again. The plane to Chicago had more passengers than I would have liked, but everyone had a mask on and I didn’t take mine off for even a second during the entire flight. Somehow, it all felt like the new normal.

It was when we landed back in New York that we saw a little white sheet of paper listing all the states New Yorkers were advised not to travel to, and which would require a two-week quarantine upon return. Though the list didn’t include Illinois, it would soon enough. Cases had once again started surging in the United States — thankfully this time not in New York, but the outlook in Florida, Texas, California, etc. was bleak. I felt a new wave of fear inside of me; all factors were indicating that the pandemic was far from over.

In early July the E.U. opened its borders, but not to Americans. While Europeans began hopping from country to country, attending weddings, soaking in the Mediterranean sun, kissing families and friends, the U.S. watched its numbers rise, and Jean and I watched alongside — our anxiety palpable. We were concerned about our upcoming wedding in Europe, which was beginning to seem less likely with each passing day. For weeks we had weighed each pro and con, but with the travel ban preventing Americans from entering Europe, the decision was made for us. We postponed our October wedding sometime around mid-July. Though drafting the email to our guests was less than a joyful assignment, I was overcome with relief once I hit send. In response, we received kind and thoughtful words that reassured us of our decision, and our wedding planner was extremely understanding. 2020 simply wasn’t meant to be, and I think deep down I had known this for a while.

The remainder of July was a blur. Dining out and escaping to the beach took up most of our time. At some point, I ventured to the city for the first time since March, which felt like a refreshing change of pace and made me realize that Manhattan was still alive — though I no longer had much reason to visit. Toward the end of the month, we received news from my company that salaries would be restored in 2021, but it was dampened by the announcement that furloughs were on the horizon. I can’t say working under such uncertainty has done much good for anyone’s morale, but (once again) that’s 2020 for you.

In August we canceled our annual trip to France, which is when we visit Jean’s family. We did all the research we could and almost decided to go forward with our plan at the last minute, and then pulled the plug. It simply wasn’t worth all the risks and things that could go wrong. So with no other vacation plans, we decided to take a quick weekend trip to Newport, Rhode Island. The getaway was much appreciated, and we stuffed ourselves with delicious seafood while exploring New England’s coast. Newport is a lovely city, full of beautiful sailboats and a cute wharf, and I’m grateful that we’re only a few hours away from this part of the country. Last year we visited Maine, and in the future, we’ll hopefully make it to Cape Cod, Martha’s Vineyard, or Nantucket to get the full New England experience.

For our anniversary we ventured to Blue Hill at Stone Barns, or “one of the world’s 50 best restaurants.” The farm-to-table restaurant is beautiful, and a culinary experience I am delighted we were able to have. Though I imagine, we didn’t have the same experience as someone would have had pre-COVID, the food was just as delicious and presented in a fun “picnic” fashion. Yes, an actual picnic basket. Perhaps this wasn’t worth the hefty price tag if we’re being perfectly honest, and I was a little frustrated that I didn’t like every single one of the 20ish courses, but I don’t have much high-end dining experience to compare it to. All in all, I’m thrilled that we went.

For me, not everything about 2020 has been bad. For the most part, I’ve enjoyed working remotely, and have loved being able to avoid my commute. It’s been nice connecting with friends near and far who usually are too busy to get a hold of. I’ve appreciated slowing down a bit and having the time to fully explore each corner of my neighborhood. I’ve also relished in the opportunity to be able to cook more often, as opposed to having Chipotle across the street once a week.

But despite this year’s (slightly less adventurous) adventures, 2020 still feels stolen. It’s been a very strange summer and life in the city hasn’t yet returned to what it once was. For instance, I live in NYC but haven’t been on a train since March. Our return to work date keeps moving later and later in the year (it’s now set for the end of October), as our office sits empty in midtown Manhattan. In general, I have struggled to have so little to do outside of the apartment. I’ve started running at least three times a week in scorching heat simply as a reason to get outside, and not because I actually love running (though it is growing on me a little). I miss a lot of things, like being able to spend a carefree Saturday afternoon shopping, surrounded by strangers enjoying the same hobby as me. I miss my favorite movie theater in Williamsburg, and I often wonder whether it will survive the pandemic (and whether I’ll be able to have their truffle popcorn again). I miss being able to visit my parents without coronavirus lurking in the shadows. I miss dancing to ABBA in a crowd or feeling the energy and anticipation of a concert or show. I miss summers of the past, and the days spent lounging by the pool.

It feels like New Yorkers have left the city, and won’t be back for a while. I’ve noticed that our neighbor’s apartment has been sitting empty for six months, while the other couple down the hall is moving to Texas. When I recently read, “New York City is dead forever,” it resonated. Though it got a lot of pushback from my New York-doting friends, and I don’t agree with it entirely, it still successfully surfaced a few pesky thoughts I’ve had as I’m staring at the skyline from Brooklyn, wondering what on earth we’re still doing in this one-bedroom apartment that has also become our office, restaurant, gym, spa, bar, dance studio, and movie theater. It’s confusing, and I can’t help but wonder when this “new normal” will actually begin — though I’m beginning to realize that uncertainty itself may very well be the new normal, and that’s something we all have to get used to.