It’s there – across the room from me, easily visible from the spot I claimed on the couch earlier this afternoon (that same spot which I fear may have a permanent Hannah-imprint left behind, judging by how long I’ve been sitting here). That big, looming thing that wasn’t nearly so intimidating ten months ago.
It’s my front door.
In the late days of March 2020 when the world shut down, I don’t think any of us considered the possibility of long-term, life-changing shifts in the normal lives we were all living. I definitely viewed it as something that, while scary, would blow over and resolve itself within a month or two. I didn’t think I would feel so much hesitation to touch the door handle, let alone leave my apartment. How wrong I was!
The evening of March 25th, a little over a week after my classes all went online, I got a phone call from my aunt. She told me that Idaho (where my family is) had closed its borders in an attempt to slow the spread of this novel coronavirus, and encouraged me to finalize my travel plans. That night, my roommates and I were a flurry of anxious broke college students, running around the apartment packing what we could while trying to maintain some level of composure.
“Closing the borders” – what did that even mean? Were we going to get pulled over and tested for the virus if we tried to drive home? Would they tell us to turn around? Were we stuck in Utah, doomed to isolation in the tiny confines of our apartment for the foreseeable future?
My friend Caleb volunteered to drive us to Boise (roughly halfway home) to meet up with my father, who would take my roommates and me the rest of the way. We left at 5:00am on Thursday morning, March 26th, with bags both in the car and under our eyes, and Provo bid us farewell with a quiet falling of snowflakes.
We made it to Boise, and then, home.
The projected three weeks quarantining with my family in Idaho quickly grew into six weeks, at which point my roommates decided to brave the Utah COVID-19 conditions and made their way back down in early May. I chose to stay for my sister’s high school graduation and ended up spending 118 days quarantining at my family’s farm in northern Idaho.
Reflecting on this experience immediately brings back the familiar feelings of anxiety, uncertainty, and fear I had struggled with as I tried my best to understand what needed to be done for the safety of myself and others. The virus that spread like wildfire was always close behind, and after several close calls, I did eventually contract the sickness in November and was bedridden for nearly 15 days.
And yet, in all of the chaos and unknowing that has resulted from the pandemic and its cruel grip on everything familiar to us, I have also experienced a drive to create, create, create. Document. Record. Illustrate. Identify. Support. Remember. Protect.
The pandemic forced us to sit down and go through some serious introspection. We had to find new ways to have joy in our lives that didn’t involve big gatherings; weddings, graduation ceremonies, concerts were all redefined. We had to spend time doing other things, finding new hobbies or reigniting the ones that have been gathering dust for so long.
We took a serious step back from normal life, and in that step back, many of us were finally able to take in the bigger picture.
During my time in quarantine, I invested more in my photography and graphic design knowledge than I ever have. I’m currently working on a quarantine-fueled research project for the gallery that will come to fruition next year as a brand-new exhibition, curated entirely by yours truly (which is the biggest solo project I’ve taken on to date).
So here I am, sitting on my couch, feeling my heart hesitate at the thought of leaving.
I turn back to my laptop and push away the screen fatigue so that all of these creative ideas have room to flourish. In the last three hours, I’ve completely redone my digital portfolio, set up my online booking system, and finally started the blog I’ve been thinking about for months. It’s a sense of motivation that I haven’t ever experienced before this year. One could almost coin this sensation as confidence in myself to push forward
My fingers are somehow not yet tired of hitting the same keys over and over, so I’ll keep working until they are. I’ll keep riding this creativity wave and try to recognize more things that I found while in quarantine. I’ll keep pushing this newfound confidence until, at last, I have made something substantial out of it and I have discovered the way in which I am meant to leave an impact.
Stick around for more words and thoughts on photography, graphic design, or creativity-related things.
Hannah L. Ackerman Portfolio 
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