Dear 2020
Hello dear blog readers,
When prompted by Suleika Jaouad’s weekly email (highly recommend you follow this author) to write a goodbye letter to 2020, it wasn’t a question of whether or not I’d do it. I have always loved the theme of reflection as a calendar year comes to a close. But sitting down to write this was something I kept putting off. There was so much this year. Not just on a global scale with the pandemic and racial injustice and the election and all of the wildfires and, and, and. But my personal life transformed in so many ways. Painful ways, incredible ways, beautiful ways. When I get overwhelmed, it often paralyzes me. Sitting down to write sometimes feels like I have to chain my legs to the chair. Five minutes before I wrote this I decided I couldn’t possibly wait one more moment to wash my hair, but as I turned the faucet on, I rolled my eyes at myself and laughed at how easy it is for me to create distractions instead of doing the work. I turned the faucet off. And I sat down.
Looking at the highs and lows of a year can be so confronting. Oftentimes when I write these blog posts I end up in a fit of ugly tears as I relive some of the more tender moments of my life. But seeing how far I’ve come, looking back at the lessons and wisdom that blossom from my struggles – that’s what I live for. I urge you to do the same. Look 2020 in the face. Write your goodbye letter to it. Celebrate the moments that were the highest of highs. Learn from the ones that were the lowest of lows. And then take another step into the continued unknown. I’ll be right there with you.
Cheers.
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Dear 2020,
Can you keep a secret? (I kinda liked ya.)
Sure, you were maddening some days and confusing and I never anticipated having to wait in line to get into the grocery store or show up to Target and see empty shelves. I have a bag of brussels sprouts in my freezer from March that I’m still not motivated to use. And I now watch TV shows where people aren’t wearing masks and I feel uncomfortable watching their interactions. But you were creative in how you delivered your life lessons and I really liked that.
For one, you served up a hot helping of patience. I’ve learned to be fairly calm and nonreactive from decades of practicing yoga, but you sure gave my brain a jumpstart on the topic. I waited on the edge of my seat as all of the facts and myths and conspiracies of this mysterious virus were sorted through. And I tried to stay calm when the world suffered a massive blackout. I watched as all of my favorite places turned off their lights for an indeterminate amount of time. And I sat in my house playing myself in Bananagrams (not really the intent of that game) until a few places started to blossom open again. BUT THEN THEY CLOSED BACK DOWN. And I really lost my cool for a bit. I was so bothered by all of this back and forth that I took up the art of breathing. Us yogis call it pranayama. I would sit on my couch every day at 6am taking 15-second breaths for 15 straight minutes until I could feel my blood pressure return to a simmer.
Yes, the pandemic was a major plot twist, but what you also failed to prepare me for was falling in love. And then promptly falling out. THAT HURT. But, it’s cool. It’s like you Mr. Miyagi’d me. You didn’t tell me you were prepping me for love again, but there I was exhibiting all the telltale emotions. Like when a kid who’s learning how to ride a bike suddenly realizes no one’s hanging on to the back of their seat anymore. I couldn’t believe it as the words tumbled off of my lips, my eyes wide. “I...love you?,” I said with a hint of upward inflection at the end. “I have all along,” he said back.
Falling out of love resulted in a solo trip to Michigan to visit my family. The visit where I was supposed to introduce this fella to the most important people in my life. The visit that instead turned into a familial volcanic eruption. The lava has continued to spew since October, reuniting me with my relationship to anger. I didn’t know I was missing out on so much fun by suppressing that emotion, but one afternoon when I decided to put Rage Against the Machine on full blast, I realized there was about two decades worth of hot fury that needed to be released and MAN did that feel good.
It was so simple I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it yet. But when yoga teachers started to teach from their living rooms and students started to tune in, I was tickled to see so many faces in these small little rectangles on my glowing computer screen. You showed me some shimmery silver linings that felt like I had struck gold. I got to connect with people I hadn’t seen in years, and the shared experience of what we were all globally going through soldered our connection even more. And, I mean, I didn’t even have to leave my house or get out of my leggings. You were truly an introvert’s dream.
Right before you delivered the pandemic mic drop, I was eating my way through Mexico, oblivious to the swift turn of events that were taking place. Had I been there just a few days longer, I would’ve been stuck in Mexico for who knows how long. Can you imagine? Just a few days’ difference and I’d probably be fluent in Spanish, proficient with mole, and definitely drunk on mezcal. But clearly the Universe wanted to limit my taco consumption, so I wound up back in SoCal. In the early days when no one knew what the hell was going on, there was all this talk about the unknown and how hard it was to deal with things beyond our control. But if you poke at that thought a little more, do we ever really know what is going to happen? Do all of our plans unfold as we concoct them? Mine certainly don’t, so while this was really a doozy that you threw at us, it did remind me that (as cliché as it sounds), the only thing we have is right now. Being present is a one-way ticket to easing suffering.
I know I’m being cheeky, 2020, so on a more serious undertone, I do want to thank you. You woke me up in a lot of ways. You lit a fire under my buns and I got some things done. And I said some things I’d been needing to say for decades to people who kept hurting me. And I really learned to trust myself and be honest about what I want in life, even if I don’t know how I’m going to get it. I see the immense challenges that many people faced throughout this year and am so grateful you allowed me to keep my job and my home and that I stayed healthy and relatively sane. I have a laundry list of things to be grateful for and you showed me just how important practicing gratitude is.
I don’t want to wish you farewell. I don’t want to forget that you ever existed. It’s from the struggle that I became wiser. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything. Not even toilet paper.
To 2021!
