It hit me the other day that this thing is forcing everyone to live out their adolescence again, for the second time. Tell me if this sounds familiar: we’re all stuck inside wearing sweatpants, desperate to get out of the house and see our friends, or else we’re always on the phone, hiding in our rooms, and trying to actively not pick at our faces. We’re watching our favorite TV shows, bonding with our favorite music and musicians, and watching favorite movies from under the covers. We’re continually snacking, losing ourselves in video games, flirting without caution, and definitely getting drunk when we’re not “supposed” to. Welcome to Adolescence 2.0. The bugs haven’t been worked out on this one yet, either.
Judging by the color and style of these jeans I’m wearing, it’s probably Saturday. I’m gauging time by the most random metrics these days; I know I put these pair of black-grey Levi’s on when I got back from the last trip to the supermarket, and that was two days ago. Or maybe it was yesterday. I know I threw the dark blue pair into the washing machine when I walked in from the store, and that may have been Friday. I keep rotating pants so that nothing ever has a chance to sit around and contaminate other things. Also, there was definitely a time in my life when I would have been mortified for my neighbors to see me pantsless, but it’s now happened twice. That time in my life, when I still worried about such a thing, was all the way back in late February. A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. Each of my hygienic wardrobe changes of the past few weeks has been punctuated by a bare-legged walk passed the glass doors of my patio because I can’t ever remember where I’ve left the disinfectant spray. Take a drink the next time someone uses the phrase “new normal.”
In between these awkward interactions with the Russian couple in apartment 1209, I’ve filled some of this extra time by checking in with friends by phone or video chat. I’ve found adulthood brings with it anxiety that you’re going to run out of things to talk about on the phone, and there’s now this giant, enormous something to talk about that pretty much guarantees a substantial conversation. When the discussion moves on to less urgent matters, it tends to head in the direction of creative expression - an absolutely favorite topic of mine.
Many of these calls have happened with musicians and other maker-types, all struggling with an abundance of time due to an abundance of caution. Everybody is rushing to fill the silence, and everyone is hoping for lightning bolts of creative inspiration, but most of us end up looking at our screens and wondering if there’s even a point.
It’s in all of these conversations that I find myself sighing in their favor and wistfully hoping that something truly extraordinary comes out of the bedrooms and garages and writing nooks and kitchen tables that all double as music venues and boardrooms at this moment. I imagine and hope that the paintings and stories and music that emerge from this time are full of meaningful expressions that reflect this shared experience of tension, sadness, drama, and love.
“We’re all struggling with an abundance of time due to an abundance of caution.”
Nothing reminds me more of adolescence than the idea of sitting alone in your room, listening to music, absorbing the world, and looking for ways to say something deeply personal. Don’t tell any of my musician friends this, but they never look more like children than when you spy them in the throes of a creative brainstorm - the wisdom of experience may still remain, yet their body language always belies the gangly kid within, grappling through an idea and turning it into something they hope will be seen as cool.
As scary a time as this one is - and it’s utterly terrifying in its unique complexities - the world was a frightening place during adolescence, as well. Youth is a time for exploration and growth from the kind of experiential healing that comes with skinned knees and broken hearts. Adulthood is full of words that begin with capital letters - Career, Responsibility, Parenthood, Duty. These dynamics will be no different when this moment finally passes. But we all know that when this thing is over, we will have to implement some changes; everything in the [hopefully] near future will be guided by a whole slew of new disciplines and routines. In that great moment of change, I would like to propose that we exit our isolation with the curiosity and eagerness of youth, rather than just trepidation and fear of adulthood.
Curiosity is the stuff of childhood because children have a zest for life; we run wildly at the brick wall with no fear of collision because our imaginations tell us we have the power to smash or glide through it. Adulthood convinces us that the wall is impenetrable and will only result in pain and ridicule. Eventually, all of the skinned knees and broken hearts add up to convince us that self-preservation is a more worthy endeavor than curiosity - you can’t get hurt by the wall if you never test its impenetrability. We begin to think this way toward the end of our teenage years when our zeal for adventure is abandoned for the practicality of routines and comfort zones - two of life’s characteristics that are being challenged right now by an unseen organism. If we’re going to start again from scratch after our comfort zones have all been obliterated, I think we should embrace this newfound adolescence and come out of it grasping for more of life without applying the same self-assured sense that we’ve seen all of this before. Clearly, we were wrong.
When this thing is over, we will have a chance to start again with a new way of thinking. This is a moment of great lessons, reminding us that every day comes with an opportunity to let a thousand invisible terrors dictate the way we live - either with coldness and sure-footed pessimism, or with curiosity, and a mindfully present hyperawareness of the fragility - and fragile beauty - of daily life.