Let's (not) throw the whole year away
A lukewarm take on why 2020 is worth more than we say it is
I’m tired of talking about the shitshow of 2020.
On this, the halfway point of the week after the halfway point of the year, I have to say something. And it’s not about how garbage 2020 is.
I’ve been in the habit of rolling my eyes and talking trash about everything that’s happened—as if my mild inconvenience holds a single flame to the fires of the year. But I’m remembering, now, how much I was ready to leave 2019 behind. And 2018. And 2017. And 2016. Obviously there’s a significant common thread, but even beyond that, each December would roll around and I’d be ready to scrap the whole year.
I’d rub my hands into one another, to remove the last bits of the annual dust, and say “no thank you I do not want this year ever again.”
Carrying that sentiment is not helpful to anyone, and it’s disappointing to realize how much I’ve invested myself into it. Years are not like junk mail; they are limited.
To be clear, I cannot stop talking about the events of 2020. Only release the wild mischaracterization that this year is filth. It is a devastation, a confrontation, a turning point, a globe-shaped grief that we’ll all carry for the rest of our lives. To brush it off as “bad” is to erase its significance.
So, happy Wednesday, today’s reminder is to stop rolling your eyes at “times like these” (and roll your eyes at commercials that capitalize on them instead).
Because you won’t get a time like today again.
Next Steps: Drink a glass of water, embrace the embarrassment of all the cheesy stuff you’ve written this week, and carry on.