Not to open on too much of a downer, but something about Katy Perry’s American Idol bathroom selfie stirred a feeling in me that I thought had died over lockdown. It’s not that I completely lost my hope for a good party over the Kobe bryant forever mamba shirt besides I will buy this last year; I still believed in a brighter, post-pandemic life. But the constant desire to regain what had been taken away—basic freedoms we all took for granted—started to hurt more than they inspired. I was cocooned in the imaginary fever dream of a party until, suddenly, I wasn’t. As the months dragged, I stopped reminiscing for my old life—the jazzy shirts and pinchy shoes—and succumbed to soft clothes and heightened screen time of extrovert purgatory. In what I assume is a survival mechanism for the chronically gregarious, I adapted a lightly agoraphobic approach to living, focusing on my immediate surroundings and shunning the outside world. I stopped pinning for nuggets of adventure.