I 

brainstorm 
new 
topics 

for Michigan Daily articles, 
like this one, from my bed 

in the apartment I moved into 
when the freshmen residence 
halls closed. I rest my computer 
on my lap, blank document open 
and waiting, and I lean back into 
the silence. Across from my bed 
is a window, and through it, as 
I write or ponder, I see the yel-
low house next door. On clear 
evenings like tonight, the sunset 
compliments the friendly yel-
low house and the pink quilt on 
my bed. The light casts a warm 
hue over my room and brings the 
tapestry of the sky and twinkly 
lights on the wall next to me to 
life. It’s a zen, quiet, picturesque 
moment, arguably my favorite of 
the week. 

I’ve had the privilege of this 

simple yet mesmerizing view 
for three months now. And for 
three months, while I sit looking 
at the yellow house and my quilt 
in the sun’s rays, I continuously 
have the same thought: What 
would my younger self, perhaps 
my year-ago self, think if she saw 
me here? What would she make 
of the yellow house? Of my bed-
room? The fact that I’m clearly 
not in a residence hall? Without 
explanation, she’d be shocked 
and confused, to say the least.

I think it’s a crazy phenom-

enon — that I, a year ago today, 
would have never conceived of 
this image, my life and my cir-
cumstances right now. A phe-
nomenon not unlike Alice in 
Wonderland falling down the 
rabbit hole: one moment she was 
walking, the next moment she 
was in an unrecognizable, al-
ternate reality with all sense of 
normality flipped on its head. I 
never imagined that I’d be living 
in an apartment in Ann Arbor, 
making my own meals, attending 
online classes or wearing a mask 
every time I was in public.

We have the pandemic to 

thank for shaking things up; for 
throwing us down rabbit holes 
and making almost all of our 
present realities completely dif-
ferent from what our year-ago 
selves would have predicted 
them to be. And I know that CO-
VID-19 moving plans around and 
making lives harder is not a nov-
el concept. But I think there is 
something deeper that we need 
to dig out and find value in be-
fore we completely move on.

This pandemic has brought 

suffering, loneliness, deaths of 
loved ones — for my family, my 
dad’s father — and cancella-
tions of opportunities that were 
heartbreaking. I’m thrilled to 
leave such a devastating period 
behind. But, as the weather gets 
warmer, as vaccines become 
widely accessible and as the 
news channels begin to spend air 
time on other issues, I can feel 
the pandemic era fleeting. And 
though this sounds strange or 
even twisted, I do feel a sense of 
nostalgia.

On the day-to-day level, the 

pandemic turned my life from 
fairly predictable to wildly ab-
normal, and I found a little thrill 
in that. At the very beginning, I 
thought I’d have two weeks of 
senior spring break instead of 
one. Naive to what was com-
ing, I was overjoyed with the 
school’s calendar change and the 
prospect of having extra time 
off — the world, or at least the 
extended spring break, was my 
oyster. I then spent months on 
end at home, but upon my arrival 
at college, I spent no more than 
three weeks in a single location. 
I moved quickly from my new 
residence hall room; to quaran-
tine with people I barely knew; 
to a room alone, sick with chest 
pains, fever and brain fog. Now 
here I am on this pink quilt in an 
apartment. 

It’s felt like the Adventures 

of Me in Wonderland. The un-
known. The unpredictable. The 
discomfort. The unexpected en-
counters. The possibility. There 
were new opportunities and 
experiences that wouldn’t have 
been on the menu had business-
per-usual been at play. I also rec-
ognize that I was lucky enough 
to be in a position with more 
privileged circumstances to view 
uncertainty in this way. I was 
forced to bounce around, but as 
a result, I tried more things and 
experienced many more versions 
of life and of myself. Instead of 
having one roommate through-
out my first semester, I experi-
enced four. I met an adult side of 
me that hadn’t previously been 
so required. I also uncovered a 
relaxed version of myself, con-
tent and not so bothered by my 
new nomadic lifestyle. 

Not only was this exciting, 

but to me, the idea of normal 
routines being broken, that the 
day-to-day humdrum of life was 
completely disrupted, felt a bit 
liberating. Expectations were on 
hold. I had no impressive job or 
fancy internship over the sum-
mer, and relaxed in the dog days 
knowing barely anyone else did 
either. Even once I got to school 
in August, there was no guar-
antee that I’d be staying due to 
positive tests or campus rules. 
Again, while terrifying, this lack 
of predictability was also free-
ing, as I wasn’t beholden to any-
one or any permanent circum-
stances. Everything was subject 
to change and predominantly out 
of my control. I’m a high-strung 
person, I’m intent on making 
the right decisions and I have a 
proclivity for perfectionism that 
probably needs curbing. While a 
lot of my energy usually goes to-
wards manning the chessboard 
that’s my life, moving pieces and 
planning ahead, I had to step 

down, surrender and let COV-
ID-19 play my game. 

I’ve never experienced so 

many redirects and pivots in my 
plans in such a short amount of 
time. Between the amount of CO-
VID-19 scares and tests I had to 
take and the frequency at which 
my circumstances were con-
stantly changing, I was essen-
tially forced to adopt the “do one 
thing every day that scares you” 
regime. I was not complacent 
with my expectations of any cer-
tain schedule or way of life. I was 
here, I was there, the future was 
unclear and I was forced to ride 
the wave of the present. 
T

oday, I’m on a job and 
internship search for my 
summer, weighing op-

tions and choices, sending emails 
and scheduling calls, deciding 
where I’ll find the best experi-
ence. I know whatever I choose 
and wherever I’ll go, that’s where 
I’ll be planted and that’s the 
schedule that I’ll follow. I notice 
that “no expectation” mentality, 
previously mandated by my pan-
demic circumstances, running 
away.

As society goes back to nor-

mal, I wonder if we’ll all return to 
the scheduled and routine way of 
life. Never before has my genera-
tion, at least, experienced such 
an elongated shattering of regu-
lar life, and it’s unclear whether 
the effects will be everlasting. 
Will we go back to creating plans 
and going through the motions 
of what and where society says 
we’re supposed to be? After some 
time, will I regress to operating 
on a one-track mind, unable to 
see non-obvious opportunities 
or life-course excursions? Per-
haps I’ll see them, but expecta-
tions will stop me from pursuing 
them. I fear that I’ll never again 
observe a scene in my life and 
wonder what the hell my year-
ago self would make of it.

And so, while I’m eager to nev-

er hear the word “corona” again, 
I do have to think about how I 
can extract what was good and 
instructive from the rubble and 
keep it in my pocket moving for-
ward. What I can gather is that 
there’s something to be said for 
spontaneity. For operating under 
lower expectations. I don’t need 
to drop out of college or move to 
Switzerland as soon as I gradu-
ate. But I do think I have to make 
a conscious effort to remind my-
self to “shake things up.” It’s on 
me to remember not to worry so 
much about the shoulds or dead-
lines or expected courses of ac-
tion because, hopefully, a global 
pandemic will never again make 
that decision for me. 

As I sit here, watching the sun-

set over the yellow house, I think 
I’ve come up with a good rule of 
thumb: to sometimes opt for the 
choice that perhaps my year-ago 
self wouldn’t have been able to 
envision. To choose to tumble 
down the rabbit hole. After all, 
the sun still sets and the sun still 
rises. From wherever I’ve been 
quarantined, from wherever I’ve 
logged on to Zoom, from what-
ever car rides I was taking, job I 
was doing, puzzle I was piecing, 
the sun still did her thing above 
me. No matter how jumbled my 
own schedule was, the sun still 
followed hers in the sky. Always 
did, always will. I think knowing 
this is security enough to make 
spontaneous decisions or veer 
away from the humdrum here 
and there. 

Tonight, the sun sets on the 

yellow house, pink quilt and my 
last Daily piece of the year. It 
sets on winter, on the near-end 
of the pandemic and near-end 
of expectations obligatorily be-
ing set at the wayside. I wonder 
where I’ll be a year from now 
when it rises. I hope that I’m 
surprised.

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
statement

ILLUSTRATION BY EILEEN KELLY

Wednesday, April 7, 2021 — 11

Chasing sunsets and 
 rabbit holes

BY LILLY DICKMAN, STATEMENT COLUMNIST

