Each morning at the breakfast table, we write the date and what we have planned for the day on a whiteboard. This morning my daughter took the task of writing the date and spelled January like this- Januwary.
Little did she know I have been slowly piecing together ideas about my skepticism for the changing year. Her spelling mistake sums up my attitude going into the New Year.
I have lived through bad years—tragic years with unexpected losses and years with lost jobs. For my family, 2020 was not that year, and I speak humbly because for so many, it has been.
While everyone is celebrating the New Year, I will be sitting back, wary of what may come. As exciting as it may seem, it is merely a change of number on the calendar. Nothing about the new number will change the chaos that 2020 left behind.
I’ve had so many exchanges in 2020 that included “when this is over,” “when things are normal,” “when we can do that again,” and the promise of “next year.”
It’s January 2021, and my question is – when will this be over, when can we do that again, when will things be normal?
My kindergartener will remain remote as our district has STILL yet to reopen for in-person learning. She doesn’t know what a kindergarten classroom looks like, and I’m not sure she will.
Masks will still be worn, social distancing will continue to occur, and my only connection to my girlfriends will be text message chains.
I’m not mad about it; I have embraced aspects of our new lifestyle and love some of the changes that 2020 has brought about. Hello, curbside pickup everywhere!
I don’t want to sound like I am not hopeful for the future. The best is surely yet to come, but I have to manage my expectations. As for now, I know that I can effectively do my job, teach my children, and feed my family. I can continue to thrive in the world that 2020 has forced us to live in.