When I was a kid, every sitcom seemed to have a time capsule episode. The kids would gather at school, bury a box filled with artifacts—a mixtape, a letter to the future—planning to dig it up years later.
I realized that I could do the same for 2020, but as a virtual time capsule—not one packed with sourdough starters and rolls of toilet paper, but a collection of the moments and memories that defined that strange year. And today, March 15, 2025—five years after New York City shut down its schools—feels like the right time to open it.
It’s hard to explain just how surreal that moment was. We entered 2020 with optimism, a fresh decade ahead of us, convinced this was the year we’d finally get it together—launch that side hustle, get in shape, fix our sleep schedules. And then, like a trapdoor opening beneath our feet, everything changed.
Saturday Night Live captured it with a skit about the expectations we all had going into the year. But no one summed it up better than Robyn Schall, who sat down with a glass of wine and her 2020 goals list, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face as she read them aloud.
- Make more money? Lost my job.
- Travel more? Airports were shut down.
- Be more social? “HAHAHAHA.”
It was the perfect snapshot of how the year unraveled. We thought we’d be out chasing big dreams. Instead, we were throwing four-year-old-level tantrums over the sheer injustice of having to eat yet another home-cooked meal.
Laughing Through the Apocolypse
There was so much horribleness going on that the best thing to do is to laugh. One day, we were making dinner reservations. The next, we were wiping down groceries with Lysol and wondering if we’d ever wear real pants again. When I asked my kids what they thought of The Price Is Right, they told me “The beginning is great, but then Andrew Cuomo comes on and talks about the Coronavirus.”
In the words of the Fresh Prince, the world had been flipped, turned upside down. And you could hear it in the things we started saying—phrases that, just a year earlier, would have made absolutely no sense.
- “Kids, remember to walk in the middle of the street. The sidewalks are dangerous.”
- “I don’t think they’ll let you into the bank if you’re NOT wearing a mask.”
- “Please mute yourself during the Zoom Bat Mitzvah.”
And because the internet never lets a moment pass without commentary, YouTube became a time capsule of its own.
- The New Normal Under Quarantine by the Holderness family felt very similar to our first months in quarentine. We also enjoyed their parody videos about quarantine like If Sitcom Songs Were About Quarantine and If Broadway Songs Were About Quarantine.
- My friend Jay, who works at Colbert, made a home movie called Wild Discoveries Of The Secret Habitats Of Unseen Worlds: Nature Edition.
- Jimmy Kimmel captured the work-from-home vibe well with Bring Your Kid to Work Day (Zoom Edition) and the Zoomy Awards (with winner Kitten Zoom Mishap).
And then, of course, there were the tweets—the little bursts of brilliance that somehow made everything feel a little more bearable:
- Today I worked from home, ran 10 miles, homeschooled my kids, cleaned the house, made a delicious dinner, and got my kids to bed early. It’s amazing what you can accomplish when you lie. — Mommy Owl on Twitter
- Look, I fully support banning travel from Europe to prevent the spread of infectious disease. I just think it’s 528 years too late. — Rebecca Nagle, Cherokee Writer
- Whoever did the PR in the 90s about cutting open plastic six-pack rings so they don’t choke animals did an amazing job. They should find that person and put them in charge of the wear a mask campaign. — Rachel Syme
We may have been socially distanced, but we had a collective experience—one that, for all its weirdness, we went through together.
What We Needed Most
While we were all holed up in quarantine, watching the world come apart, we found ourselves craving the simple, wonderful things we once took for granted. Some of that energy turned into creativity—projects born out of sheer restlessness, like Jimmy Fallon’s 2020: The Musical and The Princess Bride: Home Movie.
But more than anything, what we needed most was kindness.
John Krasinski’s Some Good News felt like a beacon in those early months, a reminder that even in the worst of times, people were still capable of joy. He pulled together surprise reunions, highlighted everyday kindness, and for a few minutes each week, made it feel like the world wasn’t completely falling apart. When he got the Hamilton cast to sing over Zoom for a young girl who had missed the show, it wasn’t just a sweet moment—it was proof that connection could still exist, even when we were stuck in separate boxes on a screen.
Looking back on 2020, the show that we needed most was Ted Lasso. A show about kindness and optimism that arrived at exactly the right time. It wasn’t just entertainment—it was a counterweight to the exhaustion and cynicism of the time. Five years later, people still talk about it like it was a life raft, something that kept them afloat when the world felt too heavy. Because in a time when everything was uncertain, Ted Lasso did something radical—it reminded us to believe in something good.
What the Pandemic Stole—and How to Take It Back
The most important thing in my time capsule is the post Everything Great Is Bad for You, I knew I’d want to return to it years later—not just to remember what we lost, but to remind myself of what really mattered. COVID, in its most insidious way, didn’t just spread among us—it was a shadow version of human connection, thriving in the same spaces where we do. It spread best in the warmth of dinner parties, the hum of crowded cafés, and the joy of long embraces.
In order to stop the spread of the virus, we had to unlearn human nature. We trained ourselves to cautiously step back, to weigh every handshake, every hug, every crowded room as a potential risk. Those COVID patterns imprinted themselves in our brains. Even now, five years later, some of that restraint still lingers, subtly shaping how we interact.
But this is why I buried that post—to remind myself, and maybe you, that the antidote to those years isn’t just “going back to normal.” It’s doubling down on what matters. Show up. Stay out too late with friends. Shake hands. Give people big hugs.
If COVID taught us how to live apart, then let’s spend the rest of our lives making up for lost time. Lean in. Be there. Say yes.