One of my friends shared with me that some people are still struggling from the pandemic years. Still processing. Still carrying it.

While I was stuck by a hurricane without power for 3 days I reflected and wrote this. Hoping it might help some of you who might need to look at it one last time before closing the chapter and healing for good.

I remember when we could drink cocktails on the streets in to-go containers. When dolphins came back to Venice. When the world slowed down and suddenly we had permission to be in a human rhythm again.

People had time to rest. Time with family. Some couples discovered they had too much time together - suddenly having to really deal with each other beyond the before-work and after-work glimpses. Some people learned what personal space meant for the first time.

We cooked meals. Started businesses we wouldn’t have dared to start before. The world got quieter - less cars, less planes, less people. Nature took back its space.

We got creative finding solutions. We were closer to people on the opposite side of the world than we’d been in years. We were living a shared reality.

When businesses and schools adapted to the shutdown, people worked from home. Hours saved from commuting turned into time for themselves.

Some people had it easy - pure pleasure, even. A job from home, money in the bank, ordering food and boxes of wine, someone picking up the laundry. Others had that but with kids, which was harder. Navigating in-home school, homework, finding ways to get them outside without any chance to socialize. I watched friends leave Brooklyn because it was too hard to be that secluded with a kid.

My husband in Hawaii? His experience was mild. He barely wore a mask. Outside on his land every day, surrounded by nature. Only masked when he went to shops. Never had to test himself for Covid.

But for me, it was living in a washing machine.

A constant flow of events, news, new rules, new people sick, ambulances non-stop all day. I had to take the train to the city, wear a mask 12 hours per day. Do the long line in front of Trader Joe’s for 30-45 minutes with a huge backpack and buy food for two weeks for my two roommates and me. We got a curfew for a few months during BLM.

The smell of bleach on my hands became a familiar smell that still to this day brings me back to that time. We even cleaned our groceries each time I came back from my trips. Don’t clean your avocados though, they ripen right away.

We listened religiously to Trevor Noah on the Daily Show on YouTube every day. It was therapeutic to laugh. To experience this period of time through the eyes of someone who was feeling like us about the whole experience from NYC.

I remember how the first months were really challenging. It started from panicking, buying rice, canned food, toilet paper, wine, candles, to hearing that the mayor was closing all the public schools but not mine.

I had to continue going to school, in a small room with 20 other students while the world was shutting down. The secretary was telling us “It’s good for you to go outside” when we asked her why our school wasn’t closing while the world was keeping their distance. There was no communication, no distance required between students, no rules, no encouragement to keep our distance. I called the government organization for student visas to ask what our rights were. None. You have to keep going otherwise you could lose your visa. When I got a journalist interested in our story, the school finally closed.

I remember the times when I melted in my roommate’s arms because it was too much. The times when I had to push through my physical and mental limits.

I’m talking from my personal experience, and I can’t quite share the extent of how challenging this time was for me for safety reasons. As you might have experienced yourself, that time was intense, overwhelming, sad, exhausting, lonely... So many feelings and challenges at once. Not being able to plan ahead. Some weeks I had to get tested twice, and sometimes several weeks in a row.

But it was also good memories. The laughs with my roommates watching the Daily News. Baking, cooking, drinking our subscription of wine together. Having moments of pure relaxing and enjoyment of a certain calmness and staying in my bubble. Moving into my own brownstone apartment in a neighborhood that wasn’t full of hipsters - and yes, I am one. Where people hang out, have parties, barbecue with friends in front of their house. Where you say hi to your neighbor.

Having parties in my room while my friend was DJing live from her apartment.

The 7 PM daily meeting we had with each other in front of our house. Clapping, banging on pans to celebrate our essential workers who were saving lives, witnessing heartbreaking situations, surviving their long shifts and life.

Every day no matter where I was, home, school, it became a ritual. A time of connection with strangers on the opposite side of the road or next door, a moment of joy in a hard time.

The atmosphere of it was particular, especially walking in the empty streets of Manhattan.

I know that without those challenging years I wouldn’t probably be living today in Hawaii.

I decided to reflect on this because we’re in March, 6 years later, when we started to have the world shutting down. And because one of my friends told me that some people are still struggling from that time.

I looked up the dates. The pandemic started officially on March 11, 2020 and ended on May 5, 2023. Almost three years ago now. We went through three years of pandemic, and we’re almost three years out from it ending.

I left NYC in November 2023. And I still feel there are parts I haven’t really processed, as if 2020 was never really processed. I remember talking about 2020 in 2021 or 2022 and being confused that it was already one or two years later. So it’s understandable and totally valid that some people are still processing it.

Some of us got to move forward and “get back to normal,” “business as usual,” as if those three years were just a blip on our life’s map. And some of us created new habits, faced traumas and PTSD, faced fears, but also realized that a different life was possible. I hope some of you saw that too. Even if they pushed us back to the old way, knowing another way of living exists opens doors.

And what does getting back to the old system mean for you? Is it working, consuming, buying things you don’t really need to fill a space within? Is it isolating yourself from the outside world? Or is it an invitation to create a system that works for you? An invitation to heal, show up for yourself, and lead the way for others to a place that isn’t fed by hate.

There’s healing that hasn’t happened yet. Grieving. Processing things we didn’t have time to feel. Maybe that means talking to someone. Working through what’s still sitting heavy.

I come from Switzerland. I left comfort and security to have a life where I feel happy, fulfilled, at peace, proud, challenged. I found in my journey of leaving that place for good the meaning of less is more. And that while money gives me access to some comfort, it never made me happy. I’m the only one who can make myself happy. The rest - the people, the love, the places, the travels - that’s the cherry on the ice cream.

I know some people might think this topic is old news. Six years later, why are we still talking about the pandemic?

But nothing is old when you look at the world we’re in today. Maybe we are where we are today because we didn’t take the time to process what happened. We just pushed through and went back to “normal” as fast as we could.

Be gentle with yourself. The person you were who survived that time however you could. The person you are now, still carrying pieces of it.

What did the pandemic leave in you? What did you learn that you could share with us that might help someone else today?

Reply and tell me. I read every response.

With gratitude,
Nina