And then I was.
Two weeks turned into the rest of the school year.
The cities literally burned. The death counts climbed. But in some weird numbness, we watched it all
happen from the comfort of our living room. With food that was delivered and left by the door. I spent
more time in online meetings than I ever thought possible. We wore our masks. Or we didn’t.
And somehow even this became a political statement. It was a complete dumpster fire. Except for the
moments when it was perfectly lovely.
And I suppose it can be both at once.
Owen got sick. We lost income. We had to rehome our dog which was absolutely gut-wrenching. We
canceled trips. We all had to quarantine. But, we also have never had so many meals around our
table (or in our backyard). We’ve gone for hikes, played games, skied through perfectly powdered
mountains, had beach bonfires, and paddled forever on the lake. Our busy calendar suddenly blank
gave us room to breathe and be together. Which would be great except we missed everyone and
everything else.
2020 had so many things to feel strongly about. Tiger King. Harry and Meghan. Masks. Race. Elections.
All polarizing and the last three especially important. 2020 seemed to create false dichotomies that we
had to fit our views into, except I can not think of a year more in need of nuance. Of seeing people
instead of just policy or even worse- their twitter feeds. How I feel about the pandemic, people of color
living in this country, vaccines, schools and churches opening (or not), first responders, and who I vote
for all feels so incredibly important. Lives are literally on the line. My views are often tangled with my faith
and relationships. More than ever, I have learned that people I care about, often feel just as strongly,
base their views on their own faith and relationships and can sometimes land on other side of the issues
as me. The temptation here is to avoid the conversations or simply unfriend, but I’m trying to be more
like Ted Lasso (and Walt Whitman) and “be curious, not judgemental”. That being said, I’m still extra
glad for the “hide for 30 days” feature on Facebook this election year. I’m trying to make my choices
and actions line up with what I feel is the best way to love my neighbor. To me this has been wearing a
mask, holding up a protest sign, casting my vote, dropping off food, showing up in hospital parking lots,
listening when I’d rather talk (so hard), and trying to assume best intentions when I don’t agree.
What I haven’t been good at is meeting my actual neighbors. So there is clearly room to grow.
Tess is twelve and in the sixth grade. But puberty hit early in the year and she seemed to
immediately disappear into her room. Coming out only to find some snacks, Gingerale, pick a fight
with her brother or the XBox. Everything I suggest (food, clothes, music, words) is now humiliating to
her. Her grades are amazing but I never see her do homework. There are lots of video games while
simultaneously facetiming friends. I kind of hate it. But, must admit I like this stage just slightly better
than the watching you tube videos of other people playing video games. We went ahead and let Tess go to rodeo
camp again this summer...even though it was like passing through the Hot Zone to drop her off. I
watched her speed through the barrel patterns and cry and liten to her gush on the way home and knew
I had made the right decision. She started a new school. Making friends in virtual school is tough...but
campus where I have been given very strict instructions not to speak to her or even make eye contact.
She forgot to mention this to my co-worker who danced behind her recently in the cafeteria. We are
saving up for her future therapy. In the Spring - she wanted to go play soccer almost daily and work on
her shot. When the soccer season finally started again, she went from a timid player to an aggressive
top goal scorer. She still needs to be reminded to shower or wear clean clothes, but she paints her nails
daily to match her outfits. She has handled the quarantine with hair dye and carbs and also sewed
masks and clothes out of most of our old sheets. She is a maker like her dad….and also just as moody.
Owen has been learning to drive. And. Holy hell it is terrifying. Despite the procrastination of online school he still managed to ace his first AP exam and we are walking out of this pandemic with some college credit ($$). He had to sit out for several tennis matches due to Covid, but his team made it to the second round of playoffs and Owen got an All-District Honorable Mention. I’m sure he misses lots of things pre-Covid, but crowds, pants, and busy schedules are not on his list. Like his dad, he is happy to social distance, even without a pandemic (especially if there is a place to fish nearby). It is hard to believe that I have a kid old enough to have a driver’s permit and take the PSATs, but I do. It is also hard to believe that he could make a 100 on his preAP Chemistry final but forget to turn in his homework (or bring his lunch). I love having big kids that can do the dishes, beat me at trivia, and make me laugh. I can only handle one angsty kid at a time so I'm happy for his willingness to go places with me and not complain about the radio (that might be because he had earbuds permanently implanted in his own ears).
Shaun has had a busy year. His work has never slowed down and Home Depot/Lowes never closed.
We are so thankful to have jobs that are secure even when the world shuts down.
He spends as much time in the garage as he does in the house. He is our maker, fixer, and personal
soccer coach. His beloved Liverpool won the championship so our Saturday mornings were in good
spirits. He was promoted at work and discovered that there is a direct relationship between leadership
and the number of meetings, carefully worded emails, and heartburn. I can relate but am proud of the
way that he has stepped up, dug in, and shows the character at home and in the lab. I can’t think of a
better person to be stuck at home with.
Some days this year I feel like I am barely making it. I have always wanted to be the kind of person
who excelled in struggle. Who chose quarantine to write a book, run a marathon or organize my
kitchen cabinets. The truth is I read a lot of books. I watched TV. I walked a lot.
I did not get in shape. I did not do any home improvement. I didn’t organize a single closet.
But I got up everyday. I read. I prayed. I walked. And I showed up the best way I knew how.
And I somehow managed to occasionally give myself grace. I bought the expensive wine.
I wore the softest comfiest clothes. I stopped even getting on the scale. And I’ve decided that 2020 is
not the year for anyone to get their shit together. It is the year that we find comfort where we can. Mostly
in each other, but also in some really good take-out.
Work was hard. It still is. March to now has been a doozy for anyone in education -teachers,
administrators and students. Virtual learning is no fun unless you like saying “you are on mute”
over and over again or making sure that your own child is actually paying attention and not just logged
in and playing Minecraft in the other room. In April and May one of the few things that required me
to leave the house and wear real pants was serving meals at local schools. I handed out lunch after
lunch in white plastic bags as tired parents drove through often in tired cars. The most important
educational question at the time had nothing to do with the lesson plan, but was simply, “white or
chocolate milk?”. The car line that snaked around the building reminded me that basic needs must
be met before anything else. That schools and cafeteria workers have jobs so much bigger than what
is tested on state assessments. In August, Instead of normal school supplies we bought a chrome
book, wine, sleeping pills, more sweatpants and chocolate. Props to every teacher, school nurse,
janitor, and administrator out there making the most out of this year.
Just last week I cried in the middle of the card aisle at Walgreens while shopping for sympathy
cards. It is hard to feel hopeful. Except it is the only way I know how to move forward This has
been a long year - one of loss, division, anxiety, shifting, separation, and exhaustion. The
calendar will not move to 2021 and magically all will be better. I suspect it will stay hard for a
bit longer. But one thing I have seen is that we can do hard things. We can pivot. We can clear
calendars, redo the lesson plans, create protocols and vaccines in record times. We can show
up in really creative ways. I am certain I will have to buy more sympathy cards. Most likely at
least one of my kids will need to quarantine. Again. Plans will be canceled. Again.
But eventually, most likely in 2021…..
The masks will come off. We will gather again.
And we will be so thankful for the smiles and hugs and noisy meals around crowded tables.
Our calendars will fill up. But maybe I will do better this time around.
Maybe I will still choose others before my own comfort or privelage.
Maybe I will still take long walks.
Maybe I will continue to find places to worship other than the church walls.
Maybe I won’t take the opportunities to hug people I care about for granted.
But mostly I have learned to be thankful.
Thankful for sunny days in December so we can find a patio.
Thankful for long hikes, walks around the neighborhood, and around the building.
Thankful for a new puppy.
Thankful for finding relief in the truth.
Thankful for friendships and any time we spend together.
Thankful for a decent night’s sleep.
Thankful that Kroger sells a gluten-free version of Red Lobster's cheddar biscuit mix.
Thankful for people trying so hard to celebrate in new ways - from Easter egg lawn bombs, to birthday
parades to outside worship.
Thankful that we can be together in lots of ways, even when we are six feet apart.
Thankful that we can show our hearts, even when faces are covered.
This year has been hard. Really. Hard. But still filled with things to be thankful for and I am hopeful for the year ahead
2020 feels in so many ways like this ongoing emptiness. Empty calendars, empty restaurants.
Empty classrooms.
But hope allows us to be filled up, anyway. To look ahead.
Hope is a vaccine.
Hope is a friend. Hope is a walk. Hope is a patio. Hope is laughter.
Hope is a text when you need it.
Hope is a soft blanket and a puppy asleep on your lap.
Hope is the opposite of emptiness.
I read recently that only a weary world could recognize the thrill of hope.
So I step into 2021 thankful, weary and full of hope.
(And here is my also annual Christmas playlist ....always light on the actual Christmas music)
2019 letter gingerbread
2018 letter christmas lights
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