Discovering Love Again

%0AOne+of+the+last+Winter+Percussion+rehearsals+before+Covid.+%0APhoto+provided+by+Jessica+Contreras%0A

One of the last Winter Percussion rehearsals before Covid. Photo provided by Jessica Contreras

Victoria Juarez, Reporter

2020 began with a course of adrenaline pumping through my veins as I looked at my partner. I looked up towards the synths and nodded, signaling the fact that we were ready, and like that, we began. It was a year that started like the ones before, missing Winter Formal for the first competition of the Winter Percussion season.

The performance was a hot mess. Everyone was playing at their own tempo, disregarding each other’s part and causing imbalances in the music, though perhaps it was an indicator of how 2020 was to be. Regardless, we left that school defeated in our triumph. With our first place trophy in hand and our heads hanging low, we knew we could do so much better. Though I often wonder why I even joined band in the first place, looking back it is the thing I look forward to the most, should we ever return to normality.

The rise of Covid-19 snuck up on us all. It was a rumor that began as small as a grain of sand, yet quickly became the beach. It was March 12, when I received a message from the band director to meet up in the band room before school. They had an announcement they wanted to share with us. It was here that we found out all field trips for the remainder of the school year were cancelled (this included our competitions). The next day was our last day stepping foot at Selma High. 

Had I known my last time performing in front of a crowd or even just in rehearsal was my last, I would’ve performed the crap out of it. Because of this, I struggled a lot in 2020 to find a sense of purpose. I struggled to find happiness in my own presence. With no end in sight, I was feeling more and more like I was letting down a program I cared deeply for and letting down my legacy due to the fact that I had no motivation or inspiration to pick up my instrument.

It’s very strange to reminisce about the beginning of 2020 because it feels like a different type of pandemic. Teachers struggled to figure out zoom, TikTok became more mainstream in the sense that millennials started using the app, we struggled to find basic toiletries and food at grocery stores, and people picked up new hobbies. 

Regardless, 2020 was the year I fell back in love with reading, a hobby I had not done since middle school. I learned to enjoy the morning sunrise and found the difference in its sunset. I started writing again, and learned it doesn’t have to be perfect to do it. 2020 taught me that I’m kind of a good cook, a trait I surely inherited from my mother. And though 2020 really put me through the ringer multiple times, I learned to fall in love with the little moments in life that make every day so different yet so similar. 

I can talk about how this year I want to read more, start working out at least three times a week, or waking up earlier, but all of those goals seem pretty irrelevant in the face of the bigger picture. This year, my biggest goal is to not just fall in love with little things like a sunset, but to fall back in love with myself.

I realize I am not at fault for the things that have gone wrong in my life. I am, however, responsible for the way I react to them. It’s very easy to give up and lay in bed for a week, but the world will keep on spinning and it’s my choice whether or not to spin with it. 

My mental health was not good in 2020 but I choose to believe that this year will be different. I choose to believe that letting go of people you love is sometimes the best choice for you. I believe that hobbies are important in keeping us sane. Working out sucks but what they say about endorphins is true… sadly. 

Lastly, I choose to love myself again even if it takes longer than a year.