“Close the door on the way out.”
I feel as if that is the prevailing attitude as we prepare to leave 2020 behind and step into the New Year.
There is no doubt this past year has been many things—disruptive, challenging, scary, deadly, restrictive—and life as we knew it changed: barriers, in the form of closed borders and mandatory masking separated people; closings, from schools to churches to government offices meant re-structuring our day-to-day lives; and health recommendations that changed on a daily (and sometimes hourly) basis left our heads spinning.
Between the Pandemic and the political vitriol, life was heavy. You know?
So, I can understand why so many want to say goodbye to 2020. But not just goodbye (which implies a possible return) but adieu (with a firm kick in the backside, just to be sure) because there is a finality in those words. Go with God. The end. Gone forever, and no coming back.
But as I sat down to write this end of year post and reflect on the past 12 months, I had to acknowledge that I cannot dismiss an entire year; after all, a year has 365 days in it, and not every one of those 365 days was bad.
Do not get me wrong. We were affected. The travel restrictions were depressing, and we worried for our relatives in Italy. Our youngest son’s high school ended abruptly when classes moved online and his soccer season was cancelled. Our other son’s final semester in grad school also came to a screeching halt, and in May his graduation was held in our living room. Then, to get ready for a job in Atlanta, he had to do a virtual apartment search, eventually signing a lease based solely on tiny photos we saw online. He moved to Atlanta during the height of the Pandemic, and when a tree fell on his car a few weeks later he had to handle everything—insurance, police reports, car rental, and purchase of another car—all by himself because we were under a shelter-at-home order.
Then, both my brother (a doctor) and my son (living in Atlanta) contracted COVID-19. Thankfully, they both recovered without complications. Additionally, two times during the pandemic I had one of my parents experience a health crisis that required hospitalization. Neither hospitalization was due to COVID-19, but because of COVID-19 we could not be there with my father during his heart catheterization, and we could not sit next to my mom in the hospital room as she waited alone for test results. They were isolated in the hospital while we waited anxiously at home for a doctor to call.
And darn it, my book club has not met since last spring.
So, without a doubt, 2020 was challenging.
BUT there were silver linings.
Because of COVID-19 we also learned, grew, and adapted in ways we never thought possible.
When I think back on this year, I can see how this teeny, tiny virus was a beacon calling us home, reminding us that there is more to life than the business of running here and there. For the first time, we stayed home. We worked in our yards. We cooked meals prepared by our own hands and we sat around the table to eat it. We dusted off boardgames and worked on puzzles. We waved to neighbors we usually never see and, from the safety of a driveway, compared notes on Pandemic Survival. We enjoyed being outdoors. We hiked, biked, played golf, and sat around the fire pit talking.
For the first time, we had the gift of time … not to do more, but to be still. And the fact that this was not true for everyone made us more grateful of our circumstance; after all, if all we were asked to do was stay home while others were on the front lines, then we had no reason to complain.
The pandemic also reminded us of the importance of faith. Not the faith that is practiced out of routine and obligation, but one that is treasured because we gather it close. When churches closed, we searched for alternate ways to worship. We set up laptops to livestream services, converted the credenza into an Easter altar, and gathered for prayer around the kitchen table. Instead of lamenting that we could not go to church, we rejoiced that we had the prayers and traditions of our faith. It was admittedly not the same, but faith never felt more real. This was a faith of wars, and famines, and yes, even pandemics; a faith that you can find anywhere.
During this past year, we—the entire world—were reminded of the fact that we are dependent creatures and not the invincible, self-reliant, all-important people we think we are. This is humbling, but eye-opening. We need each other. We are dependent on farmers, factory workers, truckers, pharmacists, garbage collectors, and mail carriers; we need grocery stores, utility plants, and factories to remain open; we rely on health professionals who care for the sick and law enforcement to maintain order.
And from a place of dependence comes an awareness of the wonderful interconnectedness of humanity; that life is a balance of needing and being needed, and if we all do our part it works.
The pandemic has also reminded us of our own mortality. We can get sick. We can die. We do not like to think of these things, but the Pandemic showed us that while there are variables in life we can control, there are just as many we cannot, and this is frightening. There is a huge lesson here because we can let that fear dictate, or we can use it to take precautions to still live life the best we can. So, we learned to adapt, and we learned that just because life was now different did not mean it still could not be lived abundantly.
Last spring, as we were sheltering at home, I wanted to do something to change April from a month that was one big joke on what life should have been, to one that was about living life to the fullest. So I initiated the “Something New Challenge”, and each day my friend and I posted on Facebook something new we did that day. Some things were simple (hosting a ZOOM book club meeting for the first time, reading Sunday’s Gospel in Italian, finishing a 1000-piece Star Wars puzzle) while others were more elaborate (completing a photographic study in green, making homemade gelato). When I look back at those April days, there is a list of 30 new things we did.
Then in August, my friend initiated the “One Good Thing Challenge” whereby we posted one good thing every day. And there were MANY good things—a summer thunderstorm, an organized closet, coffee and a danish. Again, when I look back at that time, there were blessings in abundance. Even on the bad days.
So, no, I cannot dismiss the entire year. How can I when it was the year our eldest son got engaged, when we had so much family time, when we wore goofy hats during our weekly family ZOOM meetings, when I participated in the Camino de Santiago Virtual Challenge, or when we had lovely vacations at the beach and the mountains while honoring social distancing and mask mandates?
I am not naively ignoring the challenging moments of 2020; I am simply choosing not to forget the good ones.
January is a month named after the Roman god, Janus, who had two faces so he could look toward the future and back to the past. And as we get ready to step into the future of a brand-new year, we bring with us the experiences and lessons from the previous year. We are who we are because of yesterday, stand in the present of who we are now, and with both march forward into tomorrow.
And with that, I wish you a Happy New Year.
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