The Old Normal
10.03.20
Sometimes I think about how different the landscape of my life would be if Coronavirus – that omnipresent spectre that now haunts everything – had never happened.
At around this time on a normal Friday night, I’d probably be leaving some emptying club with a handful of likeminded friends, looking for somewhere to grab a late night bite to eat, laughing and groggily spilling over sidewalks while taxis wait idly by, hoping to pick up the regular clientele.
Instead, I’m lying down in my old bed at my parents’ house, having just played a few hours of a video game by my new – or maybe old, depending on how you look at things, and on my previous lack of self-awareness – favourite game company.
I don’t think I miss the wild nights too much. They usually just consisted of me spending way too much money and going through the same routine of drinking, dancing, drinking some more, dancing some more, and going home too late at night, alone and missing half my memories anyway. Besides, I’ve gotten used to the quiet of staying in, and sometimes it’s even quite nice. Maybe they’re not nearly as exciting or as full of the prospect of new and strange encounters, but they’re content and comfortable and enough.
I do miss spending time with my friends though, and going somewhere to just dance and really let loose. I don’t miss the darker currents that sometimes lay under those late night hours, but I do miss the dark rooms full of loud music; the pulse and sweat and heat of it all.
I feel like those images have such a consistent place in my writing – the freedom of my body on a dance floor after midnight, not even necessarily looking to catch someone’s eye, but to just be; to just feel the beat and the rhythm in my blood and bones, and to just move.
And yes, I do kind of miss the spontaneous sparks that would sometimes fly between me and a stranger – the magnetism of another mystery man, a coy glance and a smirk.
Sometimes it feels like I’m getting too old for all of that, but then I think about all of the older men I’ve met who never seemed to grow out of things, and I don’t know if that makes me hopeful or sad. Something tells me I don’t necessarily want to end up like them.
Still, I miss that sudden shock of shared desire I would sometimes get on those late nights, and there are times when I feel like I’ll never experience it again, though I know that’s not true. The old normal just seems so far away. It feels like it’ll be a long time before I find myself stumbling onto a crowded dance floor again, and when that time comes, I hope I’m grateful for it. I hope I can gather all my friends together and just take over the night.
