Gone are the days of capricious weekend getaways and excessively anticipated trips to far off lands – or so it seems, at least. No, under the weighty limitations of the corona virus, we content ourselves with side-stepping strangers on one of the few open trails nearby or visiting a Trader Joe\u2019s in the next county over because its rumored to have shorter lines. But, with great oppression comes great creativity. When it comes to traveling in 2020, the front lines of innovation have been pushed, as we all struggle to adapt to this jarring, new way of life and work within its parameters. The static background green screening your life suddenly becomes alive when looked at through wearied eyes and by a disheartened soul; like The Garden of Earthly Delights, you only find more the longer you stare. We explore our neighborhoods and backyards, meandering familiar streets with newfound free time, pondering newfound challenges. Travel is born not only from physical setting but from the mental experience that encompasses it. What looks like a haunted house at night might seem a castle in the light of day. Our experience of place can change and grow with the flight of our minds. The 2020 mind takes the hardened fossil of our local neighborhood and melts it down, loosening its atoms\u2019 grip on one another, making the solid malleable.<\/p>\n
Therapy, psychiatry, and mental counseling in general are likely among the few industries that have actually profited under Donald Trump\u2019s Covid America. Between the egregious consequences of a systemically and institutionally racist country, a global pandemic that\u2019s secondary consequences encompass newfound depths of social isolation, the abhorrently capricious demagogue running the country, and the cancellation of Keeping Up with The Kardashians, the need for professional mental health guidance has never been more dire. No strangers to this pervasive melancholia are the student of the University of Denver, who are ruing each class they naively skipped before the luxury of walking to Sturm on a crisp fall day was rescinded. But next in the endless obstacle course of unprecedented impediments is this: the walls of your 1,000 square foot house are paper thin, and your four roommates haven\u2019t seen the light of day since yesterday\u2019s Birdcall run, plus two of their boyfriends seemed to have moved in (although no one has acknowledged this yet), and privacy is a luxury. Like all domains of life post-corona, you must get creative. Here are some little-known spots that are perfect for a 50-minute TeleHealth appointment with your trusty confidant:<\/p>\n
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Unbeknownst to the general consciousness of the student body is Robert H. McWilliams Park, a 1.8 mile bike ride that Google Maps presumptuously reports as taking 13 minutes although this route takes me at least 20 minutes on my most manic days (don\u2019t believe everything you read on the internet, people). Other than a few club athletes sporting DU garb who coach the 4th<\/sup>graders in lacrosse and soccer on the other side of the creek, I\u2019ve never encountered a fellow Pio while lamenting the death of spontaneous human interaction with Dr. Farquhar under the shade of the oak trees.<\/p>\n While so many visceral, interactive aspects of campus have changed, like a decapitated cockroach crawling frantically in a blind frenzy, so many of its inherent stressors have stayed the same. The familiar academically induced breakdown hasn\u2019t lost its stubborn charm, only donned a mask. As a humanitarian, I\u2019m most familiar with the terrain of North-West campus, and my favorite virtual Shrinking Couch is under this old reliable. Bonus: It\u2019s near the library, so if anyone sees you in the throes of emotion, they\u2019ll assume that all of your midterms fall on week 4.<\/p>\n There is no more fertile ground for honest transparency than the illusion of anonymity. We are lulled into this false sense of namelessness as soon as we venture a few blocks from the University\u2019s buildings \u2013 a small, stressed out fish in a large pond of Conocos and Cherry Hills commuters. I find that I can really open up to my therapist about my increasing pessimism and disillusionment with a world morphing into a caricature when I stoop it on the curb outside of Blackjack\u2019s. Besides, it\u2019s the worst pizza in the Denver Metro Area, so you\u2019re guaranteed solitude.<\/p>\n One of the DU area\u2019s most attractive qualities is its abundance of outstanding alleys. Littered with trash, populated by a cohort of upperclassmen spiraling into reckless despondency, and overrun by a particularly aggressive tribe of squirrels, the alleyways from High to Downing really increase the property value of the college cottages in the area. If you can find a sunny spot free from freshman stoners sneaking out of the dorm and the mysterious wet patches punctuating the uneven concrete, you can really overanalyze with your mental health professional.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"\n
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