You know what’s something we don’t talk about much?
The fact that memories before the pandemic all feel like a dream now.
Vague. Hazy. Unsettling, even.
Like people I once knew in childhood, now strangers wrapped in thick, heavy mist — slowly fading into oblivion. You’re not even sure if they were ever real. If they’re just fragments of imagination. Or leftover puzzle pieces from some distant, deteriorating chest of memories.
Honestly? I can’t even remember the person I used to be.
Or maybe... was it me, subconsciously burying that version of myself?
Have you checked in with yourself lately?
Everyone’s been hitting the ground running, I know. Online conferences turned back into the regular 9-5. Or 11-7 (shoutout to the virtual assistants).
Discord calls turned into Strava updates. 24/7 video calls with friends now stretched into 3-month catch-ups. Or longer. In my case, a year. Maybe two. I lost track.
Imagine being a college freshman... then life hits pause... and resumes again somewhere in your junior year.
Even those years in-between? A blur.
Connection.
Connecting.
Connected.
I had all of it.
I did all of it.
But at what cost?
The irony of feeling so connected — with just a click — while being more isolated than ever.
Because back then, connection was survival. It was necessity. It was... just for the sake of it.
Fast forward.
Suddenly you’re outside again.
Face-to-face.
Real-time.
No more cornered Zoom boxes. No more curated virtual backgrounds. Just people. Raw. Unfiltered. Unedited.
And that? Felt like breathing again.
Like stepping outside after being underwater for too long. Like holding a mirror up to myself and seeing everything — walls included.
Because here’s the thing:
The lockdown didn’t build my walls.
It showed me they were already there.
The pandemic didn’t isolate me.
It exposed how much I’d isolated myself.
Honestly? Coming out of that was the real survival story. Not just the pandemic itself. And I’m only now feeling the weight of its aftermath.
No one told me it would feel this good — this freeing — to look someone in the eye and connect. Really connect.
Back then, I talked to people just to get by. To survive the day. Small talk as armor. Conversations as obligation. Everything felt like a cage — from the inside out.
But stepping back into the world?
I realized how big it really was.
And how different people could be. Especially when you meet people outside your own little age bubble.
Your world — your mind — stretches.
If you’re reading this? Word of unsolicited advice:
Get uncomfortable.
Get out of your safe little corner.
Be awkward. Be unsure.
You'll thank yourself later.
I know I did.
Because for the first time in a long time... I had a real shot at connection. Not just surface-level. Not just convenient. But genuine.
That’s what I was missing. That’s what I was longing for.
And maybe — without knowing — that’s what you’ve been missing too.
I still have walls. Sure. But now, I know when to raise them... and when to let them down.
I learned that letting go of preconceived ideas about people — about situations — changes everything.
Is she being real?
Do my coworkers like me?
Am I too much? Not enough?
Am I distant? Cold? Will this go horribly wrong?
I used to spiral there — daily.
But now?
It doesn’t matter.
And for the first time — I don’t care.
What I do care about is this:
I only get to be who I am right now.
Whatever version of me people meet — good, bad, awkward, tired, joyful — it’s real. It’s me.
There’s no scoreboard for being the “best” version of yourself. Not today. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow.
Because the truth is...
I am me.
And I am only becoming.
So I try — my very best — to be present.
Not just for myself.
But for the people around me.
You only get to let people experience you — the real you — for a lifetime. Before life pulls you elsewhere. Before timelines shift.
And if I want to show up in this world?
I don’t have to perform.
I just have to be.
Present.
Unbothered.
Uninhibited.
Just… being.
And whoever meets me in that space?
You get the realest, rawest version of me.
Best, worst, in-between — all of it.
I give myself grace to just be.
And I’m learning — slowly, surely — to give that same grace to others too.
The flow state.