I imagine that in the months and years to come, we will all remember a day – one shining day – that we look back on and say “That was it. That was the last time things were normal.”
For me, that day was March 10th, 2020. It was my birthday. I was working at a job I had started a few months before, as an outdoor educator in the San Bernardino National Forest in California. My work was typically a grueling around-the-clock shift as an instructor for squirrely 5th graders. But fate (or my managers) gave me an unusually large chunk of time off in honor of my birthday. I took it and ran.
A coworker and I arranged to drive 30 minutes for lunch that was not cafeteria food. On the way over, he remarked that he was surprised to learn I was only turning 24. He said my demeanor and life experience had led him to assume I was at least nearing 30.
“I mean you must have turned 18 and just hit the ground running.”
This made me grin, because of course that is exactly what I had done.
We had a pleasant lunch together. I had macaroni and cheese, and he paid because, “It’s your birthday after all.” And then he went to a bar and I went to a coffee shop because I cannot stand alcohol and he was not allowed to have caffeine. (ADHD is a great quality for working with kids but not a great quality when hopped up on coffee)
I ordered an americano and a slice of pecan pie and sat in a coffee shop for about an hour surrounded by strangers.
Then we drove home. The mountain fog had come in while we were away, and rocks were sliding into the highway. I crept along at a snail’s pace while we joked that I would remember my 24th birthday as the one where I almost died.
Turned out I would remember it for so much more.
That was Tuesday, March 10th. By Wednesday I suspected things were about to get bad. By Friday I and the rest of the staff were laid off. By Saturday I was silently crying in an empty soap aisle.
I want to be careful not to fetishize the past. The world before COVID-19 was not perfect. The pandemic exposed injustices and failures which need to be addressed. “Normal” was not “Better”. And there is no way for us to get it back even if we wanted to. But in February 2020, few Americans could imagine that normalcy would become something we craved.
Which is why March 10th will stand out in my head forever. Like sand being turned into a pearl, I turned the memories over and over in my head. And after months of fond remembrance, a perfectly normal day became sacred.
It is something akin to an icon, or a relic. A perfect, golden moment filled with restaurants and travel and new friends. It represents the best of what the world was and gives me hope for the new world we can build
Kesia Lee 