From March to July, for the first time in years, FOMO was absent from my life. After all, we were all doing the same thing, right? Sitting at home, twiddling our thumbs? The glorious weather we experienced made me wishful for the warm sea and salty hair, but I felt quite content sitting in my parents garden, spending my evenings strolling to the park with my dog.
Suddenly though, while mandatory masks and social distancing measures are in place for shops and restaurants, there seems to be an influx of normality on my Instagram feed. No longer are people throwing it back to summer 2019 when everything was normal, but rather we’re pretending everything is normal.
I won’t beat around the bush, my jealousy has manifested itself in an unhealthy resentment toward those carefree enough to hop it to Greece for seven days. Aside from the fact that my passport has expired and the gov.uk website is telling me not to bother renewing it yet, I had no original plans to go on holiday this year anyway. I was going to buy a flat. I could sacrifice a year of sun, sea and Sangria to make my way onto the property ladder, right? It was a lot easier to do so thanks to the Rona but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been obsessing about winning the lottery and buying a boat. A yacht to be specific. A big one.
Jealousy aside, I do fail to understand why restaurant owners are losing their businesses and employees are losing their jobs simply because the social distancing guidelines mean they can’t afford to stay open, and yet there’s no concern with cramming 100 or so people next to each other in a cabin full of recycled air. It’s all very well throwing antibac at everything but the virus is transmitted through respiratory droplets; Coughing, sneezing, breathing on someone and I just don’t see how it’s possible to avoid that for 3-6-8 hours in confined space, mask or no mask (because we all know some people just don’t know how to wear one).
Nevertheless life is short and Coronavirus could literally kill you tomorrow, so maybe I just need to get comfortable with my jealousy and be happy for those who are happy enough with taking those risks in order to enjoy a week in the sun. Or maybe they should be ashamed of themselves, risking the health and safety of those more vulnerable just so they can dip their toes in the Mediterranean. Whatever.