At the beginning of March of this year, I started writing again.

It wasn’t intentional or planned. But the world was spinning and I needed an anchor, so I grabbed onto the only one I knew that had grounded me in the past — my writing.

One of the first things I shared publicly was a list I titled, “Hey, it’s ok,” which highlighted all the swirling emotions I was dealing with in list format.

I scribbled down that list in the back of my yearly planner, in quick, fervent, nervous handwriting. Everything felt wrought with anxiety back then. Life was so uncertain, and it was moving beyond our control so quickly, it felt like we would never even get it back. Or at least not the life we knew.

By the time I made this blog live, it was clear that life had changed, and was continuing to change by the day.

So, I did one of the only things I knew that helped me make sense of things — I continued writing. 

 

 

It’s now the end of December, and we have all somehow made it through this turbulent, washing machine of a year. I can imagine I’m not the only one good and ready to close the door behind 2020. 

But I’m also feeling weirdly sentimental about it, too. 

I was pushed out of my comfort zone this year; we all were. It wasn’t pleasant at the time, but growth rarely is. It’s only looking back that I can appreciate it all somewhat. 

I didn’t bake sourdough, not even once this year. Cooking, alone, was sometimes too much of a struggle, in fact. I didn’t join any interesting zoom meetings, or follow along any online tours of museums or old cities. 

I didn’t even have the energy for friendships. It was a draining year, to say the least. I went into my bubble and stayed there for most of it.

But I did survive. I did get up every day, and get a few things done. Some days I did the bare minimum, but that’s exactly what surviving is all about. 

It was a slow year, but one paradoxically filled to bursting capacity. We all did so much, and so little at exactly the same time. It constantly felt like we were going two steps forward and one back. 

Any yet, somehow, life went on, despite everything. Time ticked by. And now we’re here. It’s December, and we have all made it through the year.

I think that’s where the sentimentality is coming from. This year took a lot away— lives, health, certainty. But we were given some really important things in exchange. Things that can’t be taken from us because they have become ingrained in us.

We survived. 

I’m proud of myself. I hope you’re proud of yourself, too.