a love letter to 2020 + that is all
a year of standing still was busier than a year of running around
OPTIMISM —
last year, i wrote a love letter to 2019. in it, i wrote about how the year had been my most eventful yet: a new job, new relationship, new move. i also wrote about how, when it came to reflecting on the blunt forced change, i was attracted to the small moments that happened that year.
the last day working as a barista. the first bite of a lucca’s sub. a standing saturday plan to mini-van to a different bay area location.
i left last year with a clear idea of how to think about 2020: even though obvious change is what shocks and jolts us, it’s the small moments that do the heavy lifting much of the time. in other words, my life didn’t change when i moved to san francisco. my life changed when, after moving to san francisco, i chose to say yes to standing saturday dates.
i learned that big changes are simply the hooks for us to hold onto so we can think deeper about the moments that really sculpted us. eventfulness or not, there’s always a lot of change that happens, albeit quietly, in 365 days.
and wow, did 2020 stress test this takeaway.
so, with no further ado, my love letter to 2020:
let me just say what privilege it is to be able to write about the silver linings of a year like 2020. it was a devastating year, and everyone lost something; whether it was a life, a purpose, a job, a direction, stability, health (the list goes on). but in line with this yearly tradition, i’m choosing to write a love letter about the dumpster fire year anyways.
this past year, our lives stopped existing in the past and future. we were aggressively present everyday. it felt silly to talk about plans, think about plane tickets, and for a while, the only thing i could daydream about was what fun item i’d pick up on our bi-monthly grocery store trip.
what does being aggressively present do to you? for me, it made me fall in love with a lot of things i was too busy to ever notice before.
this was the year i fell in love with non-productive mornings. making a slow and sure coffee and grinding the beans from scratch is my love language. it is a piece of indulgence i get to enjoy every day, so much so that i wish i could handle more caffeine just so i could do it all over again throughout the day (and some of you agree).
this was the year i fell back in love with home. i think sometimes leaving the place you grew up is easier if you rationalize that it no longer has space for you to grow. but, after moving home to live with my parents to ride out the pandemic, i’m realizing that suburbia and its simplicity still has so much to teach me - even if its just how to handle the dynamics of running into literally everyone whenever you go to the grocery store or for a walk.
this was the year i fell in love with running. i’ve always hated it, stemming from insecurities i first got when elementary school decided to time 1-miles and stack rank all of us by how fast - and in my my case, slow - we were. but as quarantine forced gyms closed, my boyfriend basically told me to give myself a break, run as slow as i want, and see what happens. taking away the preconceived notions that i can only run if i i’m fast completely changed my relationship with running. it has saved my mental health. last week, i ran 7 miles straight for the first time ever.
and finally, this was the year i fell in love with being alone. on my 23rd birthday, i wrote out of all my favorite memories of 22. they all had to do with other people - which is a testament to my community, but also says something about how i didn’t yet find that same sort of joy when spending time with just myself. like many people, i learned how to be Extremely Alone this year. while i’m not labeling myself as an introvert anytime soon, i couldn’t be prouder that i finally find energy and joy in having a main character day.
and that’s just to name a few.
so, what does it mean when your love for certain things only starts because of a catalyst such as a global pandemic? i don’t know yet. this is a traumatic event. and you don’t know a traumatic event’s impact on you until the storm passes. so i don’t know if these new first loves are forever changes or simply reactive adaptations, and i likely won’t until the pandemic leaves us.
but, i will say that so far my 2019 hypothesis feels proven true by 2020: even though obvious change is what shocks and jolts us, it’s the small moments that do the heavy lifting much of the time.
the coronavirus was the obvious change that shocked and jolted the world into stagnancy. it would have been easy to leave the year with that as the takeaway.
but even though so many plans were canceled and life felt boring - it wasn’t an uneventful year. this year was full of small, socially distant but heavy lift moments for me, and maybe for you, too.
and, if big changes are simply the hooks we hold onto so we can think deeper about the moments that really sculpted us, then i think it’s fair to see a year like 2020 as more eventful, life changing, and transformation than a year like 2019.
who would’ve thought?
a year of standing still was busier than a year of running around.
to 2021, and finally being able to hug people again,
n