2020
“Oh gosh,” I hear you mutter (from a distance of at least six feet away), “A tidy li’l 2020 wrap-up? You shouldn’t have.”
(Really, I won’t.)
(Not too much, anyhow.)
Because, friends, this year…defies a tidy li’l anything. (And, yes, I state this from a position of dizzying, boggling privilege. Even from this sky-high perch…it ain’t tidy.)
At best, it’s been an upending kinda year.
At worst, it’s been the stuff of nightmares, the stuff that’s made the noun “2020” the worst type of shriek-filled insult.
The loss has been astronomical; human beings, brick and mortar businesses, relationships. To even sum it up in a sentence like that feels crazy pithy. I don’t think the damage that this year has wrought will even be calculable until we’re far, far removed from it, and then only with the help of trained professionals.
I do not say that lightly.
In fact, I think that any future stimulus coupon booklets should include offers for therapists and therapy dogs and it would be nice if we could get a few sensory deprivation tanks up in there.
(And for the people- and we all know them- for whom life hasn’t changed even one iota, I have questions. Okay, one question. HOW? The people who post on social media, unencumbered by masks or altered plans or grief. To them, I say this: Enjoy what’s left of this pocket of, I don’t know, don’t-give-an-eff-ism. <— My third edit of this phrase. Even if there are no physical repercussions in your immediate future, rest assured that history will remember you kind of poorly, if at all.)
Remember January? (Doesn’t January seem 18 years ago and, when you think back, aren’t your memories sort of sepia-toned and maybe you’re wearing an Oregon Trail bonnet? HOW YOUNG WE WERE, relatively speaking, considering the prior three years leading up to the annihilation of reason that was March 2020.)
Like many of you, I had Plans for 2020. Big, Important Plans.
I was going to take on more clients, because my youngest was now in full day kindergarten.
I was going to work out every day, especially since my youngest was now in full day kindergarten.
I was going to pack up my home- and, you know, sell it- as we prepared for a move that we had recently informed our kids about, which was definitely going to be easier because my youngest was now in full day kindergarten.
I was going to finish my mystery novel- NAY, SERIES- but that had nothing to do with my youngest now being in full day kindergarten, that was because OH MY GOD I WAS ABOUT TO TURN 40.
And I was definitely going to hydrate more.
Then, March happened.
I definitely stopped hydrating real, real early.
And- spoiler- the book (series!) ain’t done yet.
While the schools gave us a two week window of closing down time, I did the same with my in-person Tidyish clients.
…That was a super duper conservative estimate and, really, we should have all aimed much, much higher, like around “indefinitely.”
In a three month span, I became a remote-learning reluctant homeschooler, spackle-wielding reluctant homeseller, and a bourbon-clutching reluctant 40 year-old…also at home. (Technically, at backyard.)
I said goodbye to Chicago, to the place that made me an adult, to the museums and spans of green space and unparalleled restaurants and diviest of corner bars and stores I knew I’d miss as soon as I stepped outside of the 606…and friends so good, so true, so huggable…
All without really saying goodbye.
(It sucked. It really, really sucked.)
Yet.
I.
Was.
Still.
So.
God.
Damn.
Lucky.
This summer brought a new (old) home for my family, a new (gigantic) puppy for my bed, and new (crazy old) rekindled friendships.
My daily gratitude list turned into gentle reminders of “what if this is the important stuff?” and “when society is ‘normal’ again, might you not wanna lose this?”
Turns out, we’re really good at art scavenger hunts. Blazing trails in the woods. Turning outdoor sightseeing into Really Gigantic Deals. Having pajama days and Book Bed evenings and finding new ways to dress up for events where we- still!- don’t leave the house.
Turns out, I still really enjoy hanging out with and puttering alongside my children.
Turns out, I still enjoy dating my husband. (And friends, normal marriage is not easy. IT. IS. NOT. Pandemic Marriage is stupidly, weirdly, eyeball-poppingly hard. The fact that we are a) still married and b) still like being married is something I’m immensely proud of and boggled by. This is not a humblebrag. It’s a full-on brag. MARRIAGE IN 2020 IS UNFAIRLY HARD AND WE ARE CURRENTLY MOSTLY GREAT AT IT AND THIS IS A GOOD WIN.)
I’ve started drinking water more which, as it turns out, is really all that “hydrating” actually means.
I remembered that I love to hike.
I remembered that I love to read.
I remembered that I love to write. (Book series, I WILL END YOU.)
I remembered that, since we started wearing masks, not one member of my family has had a stomach bug. (Dammit, I should have put that on this year’s holiday card.)
And on a national level…
I’m extremely hopeful for the incoming administration.
I’m extremely hopeful for the vaccines with which loved ones and personal heroes are choosing to protect themselves- and us all!
…I’m just extremely hopeful.
Now, I’m under no illusion that at the stroke of midnight the hardship of 2020 will be over in a finger snap. January 1st, 2021 will look a weird amount like December 31st, 2020. But we’re a people who like our symbols, aren’t we?
And I’d love to believe- have to believe, in fact- that the majority of Americans are hoping for better in the coming year.
So if “2021” is the talisman that we’re all gonna clutch in our gloved hands while we send prayers of better into the atmosphere, then who am I to stand in the way of a nation believing hopeful beliefs? (Just a gal clutching a “2021” of my own, thankyouverymuch.)
Happy new year, friends.
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