The Year Like No Other

It’s hard to imagine that twelve months ago, the resolutions we carefully crafted would be quickly sidelined by an undetectable, nefarious foe. The year, 2020, has been called many things, but “the year like no other” sums it up best. 

Since March, we have struggled to exist outside our comfort zones, tested our ability to delay gratification, and attempted–with varying degrees of success thanks to an array of substances, exercise routines, and mindfulness–to cope with an onslaught of perpetual uncertainty.

Now, when something unexpected happens, we shrug and retort, “Of course. It’s 2020.” We are resigned. Frustration, inconvenience, and bad news are the unwritten themes of the year that will soon be in the record books. 

Besides couture masks, homemade hand sanitizer, and shortages of products like toilet paper and meat, 2020 will be known as the year:

• Unemployment and food lines skyrocketed while the stock market was both a bull and a bear

• Democracy struggled during a presidential election with record turnout

• Police brutality led to an outcry of systemic racism which brought on protests, riots, looting, and violence

• Classroom education went temporarily virtual and then stayed that way

• Parents were expected to work from home while caring for children and/or elders

• The hospitality and travel industry stalled and/or shut down

• Public gatherings like weddings, sporting events, concerts, and graduations were postponed, scaled back, or cancelled altogether

• When holidays meant fewer loved ones gathered around the table

• Airlines and hotels waived cancellation and rebooking fees while extending their rewards programs 

• Buyers rushed to purchase second homes, fled urban environments for the suburbs, and/or permanently left colder climates for warmer temps

• New terms like “coronnials” (babies born during the pandemic year) and the quarantini entered our vocabulary 

On top of everything virus-related and the issues mentioned above, I experienced some of my own struggles and triumphs during 2020. 

First, the pandemic put the skids on doing everything I love: tennis, travel, eating out, entertaining family and friends, and going to country music concerts and live theatre. When we raised our four children, I became adept at brown-bagging lunches and preparing well-balanced meals for six healthy eaters.  But after the house emptied, I slid easily into a more pleasurable habit of eating out rather than dining-in. The virus nudged me back into the old, familiar routine: plan out the week’s dinner menus, prepare the shopping list, battle the parking lot and grocery store aisles, and then manhandle the shopping bags into the house and fridge. Like you, I added the drama of masks, sterile gloves, and Lysol to the dreaded shopping experience (I know I can have my groceries delivered, but I like to see what I’m buying firsthand.) 

In May–the same month that I finished writing my debut memoir about the search for my birth relatives–I moved my mother out of assisted living and into my home to keep her safe from Covid-19. We learned things about one another. She discovered where we keep our wine, and I learned how poor her memory has become. 

This fall–before my husband and I began our annual trek to the Suncoast to winter in warmth near our daughter and grandsons–our second home was flooded by a neighbor’s water heater. Once water removal experts were called in and assessed the damage, we learned we needed to find temporary housing for six months. Then we struggled with the insurance adjuster, moved our undamaged household goods into storage, and negotiated with a contractor to restore our condo.

While the long-term rental apartment we currently call home is close to the pool and beach, it is not my home. Rather, it is someone else’s idea of vacation living. Every day, I am acutely aware that I am not living among my favorite things, and that my “borrowed existence” is transpiring during a pandemic. On top of the challenges of our temporary living situation, we have been unable to control an army of sweet ants. They seemed to have moved in when we did. I try to console myself with the trusty adages: “it could be much worse” and “no one died,” but last week when the insidious critters got cozy inside the coffee maker, I felt the screws loosen in my head. 

All that aside, of all that has been asked of me during this long year (which feels more like ten years), I miss hugging and visiting with the people I care about most. If 2020 has taught us anything, it is to appreciate the many simple blessings that we used to take for granted.

Readers, my wish for you is that your 2021 is filled with as many hugs as you can give and receive, that you experience sustained good health, and that each day is chock full of events that bring you laughter and joy. I wish for you hope and this outcome: may the new year be better than each of us ever imagined.

“When you get into a tight place and everything goes against you, till it seems you cannot hold on a minute longer, never give up then, for that is just the place and time the tide will turn.”
– Harriet Beecher Stowe

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