I Write Better When My Life is Boring
Does this mean I’m destined for mediocrity?
When quarantine began around this time last year, all of my friends and family members were terrified and on the cusp of losing their sanity. Each day presented a new challenge that we hadn't faced before, and it felt like the world around us was caving in. Everyone close to me was terrified.
Call me crazy or in denial, but I wasn’t scared at all.
I wanted to be scared and anxious like the rest of the world, but I just couldn’t muster a worry. I was convinced that everything was going to be okay. In fact, during the early days of quarantine, I’ve never been less anxious.
Before you write me off as a spoiled, rotten, Gen Z’er who doesn’t know a thing about struggle or suffering, this was a common experience for many people during the early days of the pandemic, especially those who were prone to regular anxiety.
In my anxious mind, the world always feels like it’s ending. When the world seemed to be ending for real, I wasn’t happy, but I finally felt validated. I’m not a nihilist or an anarchist (though I have a list of ex-girlfriends who might beg to differ), but I was incredibly relieved that for the first time in my life, everyone around me was just as anxious as me. That perceived unity alone took my…
