Normalcy

Reformation top
Mavi jeans (c/o)
Via Spiga heels
ASOS beret
Chanel handbag
Linjer ring (c/o) (similar)
Maris Pearl Co. earrings (c/o) (similar)
Location: Goethe Avenue – Chicago, Illinois

This past week, the second I’ve spent primarily indoors as required by social distancing measures imposed on our community, I’ve found myself craving a sense of normalcy. This despite the fact that compared to many, my daily life is largely unchanged. I already worked from home. That Ian is not working – his restaurant is closed for the foreseeable future – is the only real change to our lives. Aside from the obvious one, the one that means we have to see friends via FaceTime and avoid going out.

The thing is, when I find myself craving normalcy, I’m not sure exactly what I mean. I didn’t go out that much before. Am I bothered now simply because it’s not an option? Do I just want to be able to meet Topher at a restaurant on Wednesday evening like we used to do, rather than eating dinner with him via FaceTime? Is it that I miss the fun of travel planning and am struggling to accept that we might not be able to leave home again this year? Or is it something more abstract that I’m missing – the inherent but often overlooked sense of freedom that comes from being able to just run out on an errand because it crosses my mind that I need to?

What I’ve realised, as I reflect on this question, apart from concluding that it’s probably a little bit of everything, is that normalcy is a myth. I am craving something that doesn’t really exist, at least in a concrete sense, because it is constantly changing. What I’m craving is my normal life immediately before this, which was not the same as my normal life six month ago, nor as my normal life six years ago.

Normalcy is fluid. Our lives constantly change and evolve. We develop new habits and patterns all the time. In university, I didn’t own a single pair of pumps. They hurt my feet, and I wasn’t good at walking in them, so I didn’t see the point. For special occasions, I would borrow a pair from a friend. But when I started working in an office, I felt frumpy in flats, so I invested in my first pair of high heels. And despite the ensuing blisters, I never looked back.

Up until two years ago, I lived in sky high heels. I couldn’t imagine going to work in anything less than a three and a half inch pump. But on the runways, heels got lower. The styles that I felt pulled towards changed, and wearing high heels isn’t normal for me anymore. I picked up this Via Spiga pair in Chicago because they were shockingly comfortable – but when I actually wore them, I quickly realised how strange high heels now feel to me. At this point, I can’t imagine going back to wearing pumps like these on a daily basis.

We all change constantly, in these small ways that ultimately add up to shaping who we are in a given moment in time. But the changes are slow, sometimes almost imperceptible, so we often don’t notice them until long after they’ve happened. What’s different now is that we’ve had to change everything, seemingly over night – our work routines, our daily habits, our social calendars, our shopping lists. There was no time for reflection, no slow evolution. The change was like the flip of a switch, and we’re all adjusting to it retrospect.

And so I find myself craving a bit of normalcy sometimes. Because although compared to many people’s lives, mine has only changed a little, the fact is that all of our lives have changed a lot, in ways none of us would have chosen, in a very short time.  I’m still adjusting. We’re all still adjusting. Some days it’s easier than others. But I take some comfort in the fact I adjusted to wearing heels every day of my life and kept it up for a decade, I can get used to this, too.

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