I’ve said over and over to like-minded friends that I mourn what I have lost during this pandemic, even though I am a member of what I call the “COVID elite”; someone who kept their job, doesn’t have children to home school, didn’t* get sick and didn’t lose* anyone she loved. But I’m still in mourning, I say, just like everyone else who has lost their belief that humans will band together in the name of strife, and their ability to relate to people they once held in the utmost respect.
*hasn’t gotten, hasn’t lost
I’ve lost my sense of certainty in the future.
I’ve lost the joy of wearing lipstick.
Blah blah, blah blah. I say these things over and over to drum it into my fat head: the world is not the way you thought it was; the people you once respected are not who you thought they were. I repeat it to myself until I am heartsick all over again.
And yes, losing those things has royally sucked, but the truth is, I’ve lost something even bigger.
My biggest loss during the pandemic has been my bar.