2020: Not What We Expected

2020.

I don’t even know where to begin.

I wish I could say I kept quiet to make room for voices with more important messages to spread. I wanted to. But I also see a lot of voices spreading fear and hate and doubt, and I have been sorely unprepared to deal with all the crap 2020 brought with it.

Fires. Murders. Protests. Global fucking pandemic. The 2020 bingo card is getting ridiculous. Life isn’t easy for anyone right now. We’re all taking it one day at a time, wondering what shit’s gonna hit the fan next and praying our dollar-store umbrellas protect us from the shitstorm.

I thought I’d seen the worst of it. I was wrong.

Got a new job at the end of January with only a month of training in the office before COVID forced us to work from home, both a blessing and a curse. Cue work confusion and kids out of school and a broken microwave. Add an order of protection against an ex with shared custody, a paternal grandma with officially terminal cancer, and unexpectedly losing my dad to COVID two weeks before losing his mom to aforementioned cancer, and this year officially sucks.

I can’t even grieve properly. I’m too busy working from home and trying to help kids with virtual learning on top of the usual household chores. All the feeings get stuffed down until I can’t hold them anymore, pouring out in uncontrollable tears. Zoom memorials and videos aren’t the same as attending a funeral with family.

I “should” be so much more productive simply from the time I save not driving to work. But I’m not. I’m trying to remember what’s important in life and finding it hard when wondering how many stores I need to hit to find TP. (Thankfully a problem mostly limited to March and April, but a house with 3 menstruating females needs TP.)

I’ve tried taking these challenging months as an opportunity to slow down (not my strong suit), tried applying to publishing internships only to have the immediate rejection make me question my purpose in life, tried taking it one day at a time. The days I can’t stop crying and thinking about how much I miss my dad are the worst. I miss my grandma too, but being daddy’s little girl without her daddy is fucking devastating.

Perhaps all of this is a not-so-subtle reminder of my real goal for 2020: read and write more. Stop trying to see how these activities can lead to a future opportunity or career or anything other than enjoying words and creating art. Remember your love of reading started with the two loved ones you lost. Cherish their memory in your renewed commitment to reading and writing more.

If I’m lucky, I’ll quiet the inner critic long enough to start writing about my dad and grandma. So many happy memories, so many moments I don’t want to forget. I need to stop worrying if my writing is good enough. Stop editing as an excuse not to publish. Put more words and art into the world. Period.

Life’s so much shorter than we can ever truly understand. If words are all I have, it’s time to start putting them somewhere other people can see and stop putting myself down before I even try. For Dad, for Grammy, but most importantly for me, grieving and healing through creativity.