Remember Who You Are

Quarantine has led me to pick up a couple of new hobbies, the weirdest of which is probably tracing my family tree. I think everyone wonders where they came from at some point — no one just emerged from the depths of the earth with no parents or ancestors.

We can’t all be Crystal Gems.

When I began going through various websites and databases, I was cautiously excited over who or what I’d find, cautiously for two reasons. For one, especially being a white person with some roots in the South, there’s a chance I could uncover less-than-savory things about my family. But what if I couldn’t find anything about us at all? I come from a humble working-class family from Appalachia. There’s nothing special about us.

I was wrong. Very, very wrong.

I started by Googling my maternal great-grandparents’ names and hometown. Simple enough, right? I find an ancestry website and notice links to information on their parents. And their parents’ pages contain links to their parents, and so on and so forth. Down the rabbit hole I went, until the names started including titles such as Captain, Sir, Lady, Lord, Princess, King! I even traced my ancestry back to a legendary Welsh princess whose tumultuous life was recounted in an article that dubbed her the “progenitor of Britishness.”

Not quite the royalty I was hoping to find when researching my British roots, but I’ll take it.

I write all of this from the literal hole I call my apartment, currently littered with unwashed dishes and clumps of cat hair because I can’t be bothered to vacuum lately. In short, no matter what my bloodline says, I don’t feel like royalty. Lately, my depression’s been taking its toll. I find myself lying in bed until 2 in the afternoon and spending the rest of the day on my couch. I don’t even have the energy to play Animal Crossing anymore — my poor town’s probably overrun with weeds by now and my villagers probably think I’m dead. And writing, obviously, has been a no-go as of late. I haven’t updated this thing in weeks now. I don’t have the inspiration. I don’t know if I’ll ever finish the story I’ve been working on. It feels meaningless.

I know it’s not entirely my fault. Quarantine has put a moratorium on everyone’s lives, but I feel like I’m just getting older and older and not getting anything I set out to do by now accomplished. I haven’t released a full-length album or toured since my time with my old band. I’ve never even moved away from Michigan to chase those dreams somewhere better, like Nashville or California, like I’ve always wanted to do. My ancestors would be proud, right?

I guess this is a “remember who you are” moment. I come from a long line of knights, explorers, and hard-working farmers and blue collar workers. There’s nothing they could do that I can’t do. Quarantine or no quarantine, I’m sick of wallowing in self-loathing and regret. I know I’m stronger than this.

To anyone reading this, so are you. Straighten your crowns, kings and queens. We’re going to get through this together.