What's Left Behind

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I often think back to what my life was like when these photos were taken.

All three are memories from the summer of 2019, where my family and I vacationed in both Ocean City, Maryland and Playa del Carmen in Mexico.

For some unexplainable reason, I probably think about the picture showing the food the most. I couldn’t even tell you what exactly went into that fish burrito, but I remember visiting the little café at our resort in Mexico two separate times during our five-day stay just to enjoy the meal again. I remember obsessing over how strangely good it tasted with my older brother, Collin, who had ordered the same exact thing (down to an identical choice of beer, I’m sure) as I had both times we dined there.

I think about how careful we thought we were being as we traveled out of the country. We took all the extra precautions, including arriving at the airport with ample time before our flight, keeping our passports in a safe place, being sure not to drink the water once at our resort. Except for maybe my dad - who has been a longtime germaphobe - there was little anxiety for sharing the same plane as other travelers or the same pool as other guests at the resort.

This trip was special for many reasons. Usually, family vacations involve our camper and require many miles on the road. Last summer’s destination, however, was chosen in celebration of my dad beating cancer earlier that year. This was the first all-inclusive experience I shared with my dad’s side of the family, and we certainly appreciated the endless drinks and food surrounding us for the entirety of the vacation. Even though the weather was painfully hot and humid, all that really mattered was that our family of seven was together in one place. Not to mention that the trip was over my 20th birthday, which helped to make it even better.

That random fish burrito reminds me that sunny weather and the freedom to travel should never be taken for granted again.

Not even a week before our Mexican excursion, Collin and I joined several of my mom’s relatives and family friends for a long weekend in Ocean City, Maryland. Our hotel was situated right along the boardwalk. I’m not sure what possessed me to hang behind in my room for a little longer than the rest of the group one night, but if I can remember correctly, I took this picture of myself in the mirror right before the start of a fireworks show.

My family spent evenings gathered on the large balcony attached to our hotel, which overlooked the crowds of people shuffling past the boardwalk’s shops each night. This was our way to escape the chaos, as we much preferred to pass drinks and people-watch after dinner than buy cheap souvenirs or play arcade games anyway.

I remember my thumb throbbing in pain as a result of trying way too hard in a game of beach volleyball. A handful of the teenagers and young(er) adults in our party hurried to an empty court one afternoon and I was determined to make an impressive return to the sport I hadn’t played in years. I was never good at setting the ball, and I should have known better than to attempt in doing so to return a serve from the other side of the net. This conveniently occurred mere hours before our big seafood dinner, and my heart was broken as I struggled to crack open a pound of snow crab legs with a bruised hand.

That mirror selfie reminds me that group sports and the chance to swarm a boardwalk should never be taken for granted again.

The third and final photo was taken in the backyard of a random house in State College. Two of my roommates and I returned to stay at our apartment for Penn State’s beloved Arts Fest weekend in mid July. All of Centre County herds the downtown streets to view artwork and browse through various arts and crafts stands. At least that’s what I hear the Central Pennsylvania Festival of the Arts is about; for the rest of us PSU students, it only serves as a weekend of reconciled college shenanigans in the dead of summer. My dad (a ‘94 alumni) always uses the quote, “It’s not about the art...it’s about the festival,” in reference to the event.

I think about how exciting it was to see some of my best friends after a couple months of being separated in our hometowns. We crossed off a bucket list item in those short three days: sneak into an expensive apartment complex’s pool for a daylong party. As a matter of fact, this was the same pool that we can see clearly from the sliding door of our dumpy apartment across the street.

My roommates and I never imagined that we would be hanging out poolside over the weekend, so naturally this necessitated a last-minute trip to Target to buy swimsuits. I remember excitedly rummaging through the limited options left in the store and trying on our mix-matched outfits before making the spontaneous purchase. Not long after arriving at the pool, I’m pretty sure we concluded that we had an outsider status and that the amount of people we actually knew could be counted on one hand, but we felt like a million bucks while there nonetheless.

That photo from Arts Fest reminds me that leisurely shopping trips and that public pools, even when questionably occupied by drunken college students, should never be taken for granted again.

The amount of pictures I could find from pre-Coronavirus times is virtually endless. The memories that each evoke, along with the list of mundane aspects of life that I am now especially appreciative for could go on and on.

Just like many others around me and all over PA and across the country, I’m mourning the loss of so many everyday experiences that I never once considered to be anything special. As summer 2020 approaches, I have no choice but to prepare for nostalgia to hit. If only I had known that traveling to foreign places, the coast and its beaches or the 150 miles west toward my college campus would become such a luxury...I would have played through pain for just one more game of beach volleyball, perfected the recipe for that Mexican fish burrito and maybe even looked at the art.