It's Been a Year

 2020 -- it's been a year that most of us will be more than happy to see growing smaller and smaller in our rearview mirrors. It's been a year that most of us, at some point in the future, will look back on with strong feelings, many of them not-so-positive. After all, 2020 was a year of fear and uncertainty, of cancelled plans and social isolation, of rapid and radical adaptation to completely new ways of communicating, working, and living. 2020 stripped us of some of the things that make life sweetest -- hours spent in the company of friends and family, vacations and gatherings, weddings and celebrations -- and left us all in the lurch. And for some, 2020 held even darker realities -- job losses, financial crises, illness, and loss. 

No matter how you slice it, 2020 is a year that will leave a lasting imprint on our collective consciousness, as much as we might like to forget it altogether.

But the year is coming swiftly to an end, and if these waning days of December are good for anything (besides hanging out in sweatpants and eating way too many leftover holiday treats), it's reflecting on another year gone by.

Like so many, I came into 2020 naively excited about the year ahead. The entire month of January stands out in my memories now as having held especially high highs for me. For one, I was still riding the wave of having written the first draft of my novel. I'd moved on to the editing and revision process, and was completely and utterly engrossed in the task of reading the novel with fresh eyes, polishing it and adding new scenes and chapters. By mid-month, I was sending an early draft to my first round of trusted beta readers -- and I remember being both exhilarated and terrified at the thought that this story that had lived only in my head and in my Google drive, one that had completely consumed me night and day for the past few months, was now going to be read by other actual people. I remember the feelings of wonder and pride when the feedback started to come in, and my readers were actually enjoying this early version of my book. 

2020 was also supposed to be my year of travel (ha ha). We had a big trip to Disney planned for the kids in April. We had another trip planned to England, my #1 bucket list travel destination might I add, for our friends' wedding in June. And at the end of January, I pulled the trigger on something that both thrilled and terrified me -- a 3-day writer's conference in New York City in April, where I'd be workshopping a pitch for my novel and then getting the opportunity to meet with actual literary agents and publishing house representatives to present my pitch. 

I don't remember much about February, besides that it was dominated by travel planning, editing and revision of the novel, and a growing feeling of panic setting in about the upcoming writing conference, for which I was supposed to have a finished manuscript. Though mine was coming along nicely, I was beginning to wonder whether my timeline might have been too ambitious. And beyond that, there was the anticipatory feeling of foreboding that I think all anxious people have experienced before -- that feeling that things were going too well, that feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And then, March happened. In the first half of the month, there was a creeping feeling of dread -- a vague, gloomy suspicion that, figuratively speaking, shit was about to hit the fan. I remember being at my monthly book club meeting in early March, and my friends talking about conferences and events being cancelled because of this virus that was plaguing Europe, this virus that was beginning to edge its way into the U.S. And then, on March 11, I was at a headshot and networking event, and I remember musing to the photographer that I was beginning to get a little worried about my Disney trip (oh, naive past-Emily). On March 13, I was on my way to an appointment when I got the email that my writing conference had been cancelled. And on the way home from my appointment, I got another email that my kids' school would be closed down "for the next few weeks." That was the day that life as we knew it came grinding to a halt.

It's funny now to look back on how the stay home orders were received when this whole thing started. Back then, the pandemic was still so new and seemed like something that might just be a little blip on the radar, a stressful but short-lived ordeal. People were posting memes and parody videos. Parents (including yours truly) were posting overly optimistic "Coronavirus homeschool" schedules, imagining all of the quality family time they could have now that their kids were home. People were joking about how introverts had been training their whole lives for this moment. People were moving their spring vacation plans to summer.

But then, the weeks wore on and things kept getting worse. There were more questions than answers. In my state of Connecticut, April was a bleak month with a high number of daily Covid deaths. And in the midst of that, my father passed away suddenly and unexpectedly.

Although he didn't die of Covid, the memory of his passing will always be colored by the pandemic. In my mind, the two will be forever linked. The last time I saw him and spoke to him, it was on a screen. The day after his passing, I went to my mom's house and hugged my mom and siblings, an act that had become forbidden with members outside your immediate household. That day was the first time I'd been out of my house since the mask mandates had been put in place, and sitting in the office of the funeral home to finalize his arrangements while wearing a mask for the very first time just added another layer to the surreality of the whole thing. And of course, given that Covid cases were at their peak at the time of his passing, we couldn't have a funeral. Everything has been rendered different in the time of Covid, even grief.

As spring gave way to summer, there was a collective sense of renewed hope. Here in Connecticut, Covid cases were on a steep decline. The weather was warm, the sun was shining, and many of the summer activities that we all enjoy just happen to be pandemic-safe. I remember going to a winery one warm afternoon with a friend and sitting out on a picnic blanket in the grass for hours, talking and eating snacks and drinking good wine. It felt like a spring thaw, like the bleak and dark months were finally melting away. I remember the sensation of the sun on my face and having this overwhelming feeling that I needed to soak it all up -- not just the sun, but that entire feeling. Those types of moments had become such a rare and precious commodity, and I didn't want to take one second of them for granted.

The pandemic and subsequent period of relative isolation brought opportunities that may not have come about otherwise. In June, desperate for more opportunities to be somewhere other than my house, I took up running. I'd never been much of a runner, but now, it felt right. My dad had been a runner in his younger years, and it felt symbolic somehow -- a way to honor his legacy, a way to connect with his memory. My neighborhood has a perfect (albeit hilly) 2+ mile loop, which made a great introduction to running. There were a few bumps in the road (pun totally intended) with improper footwear and knee strain, but once I addressed those, I was off and running! I ran almost daily throughout the summer and into fall. As a mom, I'd become used to the feeling of being like a pack mule -- always carrying shopping bags and backpacks and the other assorted gear that comes with parenting, always holding someone's hand or carrying a toddler on my hip. But when I ran, there was nothing to carry -- nothing but myself -- and I came to crave that freeing feeling of lightness. I almost always ran in the evenings, when the sun was sinking low over the top of the hill along my route, and I got hooked on the feeling of seeing the sky painted in pastels as I ran, watching the birds and squirrels and sometimes even deer that shared that twilight hour with me.

Another thing that may not have happened were it not for the pandemic was the opportunity to step back from my novel for awhile. Before life came screaming to an abrupt stop, I'd been working at breakneck speed on revising my novel, with the lofty goal of having a complete, polished manuscript in hand when I attended the pitch conference in April. Obviously, once I found out that the conference was being cancelled, there was no longer a reason to rush to finish the manuscript. As it turns out, this was absolutely a blessing in disguise. I ended up being able to step away from the novel for a few months, and when I returned to it later with fresh eyes, I was inspired to make edits and improvements that most definitely would not have happened on my original (rushed) timeline. Were it not for the pandemic, I also probably would not have started this blog when I did, but I'm thankful I have -- it's given me an opportunity to connect in a time that personal connection is lacking.

Like we all did, I experienced my fair share of highs (running my first virtual 5K, 'winning' NaNoWriMo for a second time, having some outdoor visits with friends and family, a trip to Cape Cod, sending my kids off to school for the first time in 6 months), some lows (missing holiday traditions, election stress, and general pandemic fatigue), and some bittersweet moments (namely, spreading my dad's ashes on the beach the Cape) in the second half of 2020. By then, we'd gotten past the unfamiliar strangeness of it all and had begun to find some moments of "normal" in the midst of all of the chaos, but still... nothing felt quite right. And especially now that Covid cases are at an all time high everywhere and life seems to be shutting down once again, there's this uncanny feeling of Groundhog Day that seems to be surrounding us all now.

If there's anything I learned in 2020, it's that humans are resilient. I've often been reminded of that old saying, "necessity is the mother of invention" -- never have I seen this principle in action more than I have this past year. Seeing the way that so many have come up with creative ways to overcome the obstacles put in their paths by the pandemic -- the way that teachers have made distance learning fun and effective, the way that restaurants have restructured to allow for outdoor dining and takeout, the way communities have organized socially distanced events -- there's a lesson in that for all of us. For as much as Covid has wreaked havoc, leaving a path of destruction in its wake that may take years to repair, it has also forced all of us to reexamine so many aspects of our society -- how we live and work, how we communicate, how we shop, how we spend our free time. And while some aspects of life are likely to revert right back to how they were before when this is all over, others will be forever altered because of what we've learned and how we've been forced to change. And that's not always a bad thing.

Thank you, readers, for being with me through the strange year that was 2020. My wish is for everyone to have a happy and healthy 2021, and for clearer skies and brighter days ahead.