Winter is now undoubtedly creeping in as we see autumnal leaves parting from their branches only to be trodden into the pavements below. This visual change in the seasons serves as an unavoidable reminder of how much time has passed since our lives were turned upside down, and how unforgivingly quickly it continues to do so whilst we live in this distorted and skewed version of our world.

This pandemic is the most invasive and pervasive thing to ever happen in our lives. Never have we had to think of one thing so obsessively and necessarily in every aspect of what we do. Going out the house? Remember a mask! Leaving/entering anywhere? Sanitise! See another human? Two metres please! Meeting a friend or family member? No hugging! Oh, but you can bump elbows! It is inescapable, and its constant presence in our thought process is draining. We are collectively having to learn a complete new set of habits that go starkly against our sociable human nature.

It also feels as though all that we do during this pandemic is just to pass the time until it is all over, as though only then will our real lives un-pause and resume. Everything feels like a filler, somehow less real, less valid. Doing work for university does not feel like it counts as much, going on a year abroad does not quite feel like the real deal. Not only are they markedly different, all areas of our lives having been somehow affected by new measures, but there is also less liberty in these remaining things that we are allowed to do, because of precisely that – we know we are being allowed to do it. The things we cannot do we miss dearly, finally appreciating their true value.

Although everything around us is incessantly changing – numbers, rules, advice – we cannot let the volatility of the pandemic damage every aspect of our lives. It will inevitably do so in many, but it falls to us to be open to moments of humanity, learning, and new perspectives, however difficult that may seem. Life will not be what we consider ‘normal’ for a long time, we must endeavour not to let until then be lost time.

While it does not necessarily always feel like it, we have already adapted in many ways, such as our mentality. I know I am not the only one who, whilst watching TV with others, has been part of a conversation about how strange it is to watch the world recorded in its pre-Covid state. Seeing people who have given no thought to how close together they are, or to how many people are in their small, unventilated, indoor room where there is nothing even vaguely resembling PPE is uncomfortable, or at least rings alarm bells for our new outlook on necessary personal space and protection. This change in worldview is quite remarkable: we have rapidly and collectively altered our mindset to one that will help protect ourselves and others from the virus.

For those who are planners, corona has taken any ounce of organisation and sneeringly chucked it out of the window, not to be seen or needed for a long time to come. As we have all learned, most plans are futile as we do not know what the next day will hold in our current climate. As France has newly entered another lockdown, I have friends who are up and leaving Paris where we are currently based on a year out from university. Relocating on a whim to more lockdown-friendly surroundings within the “hexagone,” flying back home in a split decision, or adopting a laissez-faire attitude of “I’ll just wait and see,” no one had a plan for this, yet everyone already has one formed and underway. Many would say that this is proof of getting used to the pandemic itself, but I think it is changing and readjusting that we are becoming used to. If we can take anything beneficial from this time, it is a practiced ability to adapt and readapt.

Another thing that some of us have had to adapt is our hearing. It is so much harder to understand one another with masks on. Not only are we deprived of the facial expressions which convey such human things as emotion, energy and character critical to meaning and nuance, but also the starvation of our sight means that the aid of lip reading, an essential but underestimated helper in understanding, is eliminated. Currently on my year abroad, I never realised how much I relied on this visual aid to prop up my comprehension of foreign languages. But when you lose one sense the others adapt, they heighten. My sense of hearing, left to fend for itself, has definitely had to sharpen and step up in order for me to get by at university in a foreign language. It has challenged me hugely, and perhaps long-term the adaptation my senses were forced into will help me – we must take the small wins.

This does not just apply to foreign languages. I spoke with my mum about my struggle to understand without lip reading. She is deaf in one ear and said exactly the same – she finds it immensely more difficult to understand people wearing masks, not realising how much she depended on her sight for comprehension she thought came from just “hearing.” Many of us have gained a new outlook in areas like this and appreciate what seems like the previous ease of life, wondering how we could have been so blissfully ignorant of the things that we rely on so much. 

These realisations of our capacity to adapt and our changed outlooks are obviously few examples of good or benefit to come out of this time. They are in no way an attempt to lesson or justify the devastation and suffering that has also taken place. However, I think it is important, especially in a time like this, to sift out some positives, or even some constructive negatives, such as recognition for those things that we value but are currently impossible. It is a way of surviving and ensuring this time does not pass in complete darkness.

In the climate of a pandemic, everyone has lost something, but the gravity inevitably greatly differs. Therefore, it can feel self-indulgent mourning the smaller things when people have lost loved ones, lost whole livelihoods. But, however great or small, each loss is life changing and deserves to be processed and mourned. So, although it may seem torturous to begin with, there is good to come from recognising and processing them. 

Many of these involve people – time we did not get to spend with friends, that person we did not get to hug on their birthday, seeing grandparents in person rather than just their faces on a screen (or often in the case of my grandparents, their foreheads, depending how well they were doing with the “machine,” aka their iPad, that day). Some are experiences – not having the rite of passage of a proper fresher’s week, not feeling the mental and physical benefits that many rely on gyms to provide, not being able to go to that library or café which we rely on to smash out a load of work.

The possibilities are wide-ranging and endless, and each person’s list is unique. Reflecting means we learn a lot about what we value and depend on, whether it is lip reading, a change of scene or the familiar hug from a loved one. This is an appreciation and understanding that we may have never gained without this pandemic, where the saying “You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone” rings truer than ever. Some of what we thought were smaller, everyday things are now what we most look forward to and appreciate. We realise that actually they are the big things, the important things.

So, as another wave of lockdowns begin, and a winter harsher than any looms on the horizon, we are all heading towards a very difficult period. It is a privilege to be able to aim to do more than just survive in this time. But, for those that can, if we can uncover small positives – feeling warmth in moments of human cooperation, learning about ourselves in diverse and surprising ways, or discovering that which we most value – perhaps we will find some much needed light in the darkness.

For now, we can at least take a sense of pride in having already adapted just as we do with the seasons. Except with this new kind of season, instead of wearing a coat, we wear a mask. Instead of warming our hands when we walk into a building, we sanitize them. We have taken these means of survival that were thrusted into our unsuspecting laps and adopted them as habit to create a ‘new normal’ tailored to our new environment. With the word ‘season’ comes the promise of an end, a return to a pandemic-free world. We can only hope that those people who come after us learn from our struggles and mistakes so that they are prepared for when another inevitably comes around.

Hope Browne is a third year student at the University of Oxford studying French and Spanish. She is particularly interested in issues of sexism.