Yesterday, I skipped out on a concert. It was a show in D.C. for Green Day, Fall Out Boy, and Wheezer. They were never my favorite bands, despite a enthusiastic phase during my middle and high school years. This interest has and continues to exponentially drop the older I get. I bought these tickets 2 years ago—a solid year before the pandemic was in full swing. Of course, there were opportunities to get a refund. Like most of the pandemic, these processes were also poorly timed and inconvenient.
Sophie and I made the judgement not to go. We gave our tickets away to our friend Sully, who also had tickets and decided not to let the money go to waste. He ended up giving the tickets away and spent the concert not with me, but with a father and daughter who were waiting by the entrance for free tickets. Good for them. I hope they had fun. As for me, I spent my Sunday reading One Piece.
Based on Sophie’s snapchat feed, the experience was poorly handled. Despite plenty of space, concert-goers were strangely sardined in various sections. Entire sections were empty while other sections had people packed together way too close. On top of that, someone from Fallout Boy contracted Covid, so their set was cancelled. The concert organizers gave people two hours to get a refund.
I also had a family trip planned for the end of the month. My mother, father, sister, and I have a tradition of getting a hotel in North Myrtle Beach, North Carolina. Away from the busier south side that contains the boardwalk, these trips usually involve eating, illegally drinking out of a metal thermos on the beach, and sitting in a hot tub. It’s a perfect week of doing and thinking very little, a nice contrast from a usual life of doing and thinking too much and too often.
My mother, being in the healthcare industry, decided to cancel this trip last minute, due to the rising number of Covid cases, especially in the southern United States. Instead, she decided to take a chance on a 3 day trip to Niagara Falls. She says that the numbers are not as high in the northern United States and the activities we will be partaking in are less risky.
I’m not upset or disappointed. It’s a been a bad year for high expectations and all things considered, this set back isn’t even close to minor. Last time I went to Niagara Falls, I was six years old and I can barely remember the sites. I hear it is supposed to be nice.
Still, I think about all the things I said no to this year. How many parties I declined, offers to hang out. I think about how many times people promised we would be safe but still saying no because it all seemed like a hassle to me. I think about how many times, I have heard people denouncing the actions of others regarding pandemic etiquette than proceed to go to a large social gathering.
Then, I think about all of the Covid-deniers who puff out their chest in pride over their refusal to listen to the government, logic, reason, and the world’s collective cry for help. I’m sure that Rorshach from the Watchmen would be proud, just as much as I am sure Alan Moore is tired of the collective human race. Like Mr. Moore and Dr. Manhattan, I too have become tired of this world.
I spent the last year living like a hermit. I caught up on my list of books, movies, and video games that I have had on my back log for a long time. I spent some time trying to rework my diet. I became more active by taking up dancing. Most importantly, I started writing again—more than I ever thought I would or could post-undergrad.
Unlike most people, I feel as if the pandemic was simply my chance to withdraw from a world that I have become exhausted from. I find that I like this isolation. Watching it all through social media, I saw people getting angry and petty about things that don’t matter. It was, and still is, a time of political strife and social unrest. I found my solace in contributing to nothing and no one but myself. The world was burning around me but it was ok because I finally bought a VR headset. I may have stopped using social media but I still found I way to please Mark Zuckerburg’s eternal conquest to sell my digital soul by buying an Oculus. Everyone wins, I guess.
But I can’t keep living like this, right? I have to go back out there at some point. Earlier in the summer, I did start trying to assimilate. The numbers looked good and the Delta variant was still a faraway threat here in the East Coast USA. I wasn’t going to concerts or massive parties. But I did see friends and we hung out without limiting ourselves to the outdoors. Sophie and I have even been in restaurants. I was even considering going out to get a part-time job to pad out my savings.
But with everything getting worse again, I am withdrawing once more. I can wait. I’ve done it for a year and a half. What is another year in the face of a lifetime.
By the time, this is all over, however, will I want to return? Sure I miss restaurants, movie theatres, concerts, and music festivals. I don’t miss the constant fear of a virus that exists like a phantom looming over every person. I miss going out with friends without a care. I don’t miss the fear of random hostility due to race relations and political discourse. I don’t miss the constant stress leading to petty barberism.
My friend asked me to go to Banoroo this year.
“We could work a food stand,” he said. “The trip will basically pay for itself.”
The line-up looks amazing. I miss music festivals. It would be a nice change of pace from everything that I have dealt with this year.
And yet, I can’t bring myself to go. This plague, a phantom illness that I cannot see, smell, or touch, is still out there. Many people have said that at some point, Covid will be like the flu. It will simply be a part of our lives and we will have a vaccine that helps maintain it. People will still die from it but it will be so normal that we will find other reasons to panic and be petty to one another.
One day, I am going to have to choose between going back out there and risking the phantom for the chance at adventure or staying home.
Right now, I choose to stay home.
Danger Wonka 