There are days when the absolute last thing I want to spend my limited mental energy on is peeking over the pandemic wall to catch a glimpse of what might be. But if I want a real chance to be better prepared for life post COVID-19 than we were for life during COVID-19, I have to keep walking right up to that pandemic wall and risking both the heartbreak and the hope that might be seen on the other side.
The reminder that things don’t always have to be to spectacularly over-planned to be simply spectacular has been a gift of this strange time.
I have begun to wonder this week if I’ve actually been holding my breath for the past 11 months. Each vaccinated person in my immediate sphere is like a little dose of extra hope and is accompanied by the gift of deeper and cleansing breaths for me.
At this exact moment in time, I strongly dislike my entire family. Truth be told they’re probably not my biggest fans right now either. I love them like crazy, but am so over them being around ALL. THE. TIME.
Politics of Hope & Joy – some thoughts on a day where we honor the legacy of MLK mere weeks after confederate flags were paraded through the US Capitol in an overt display of white supremacy and two days before the inauguration of Biden and Harris.
44 weeks of running on fumes and having to repeatedly pivot to new ways of doing life/parenting/work, combined with angst surrounding national security in the wake of the attempted insurrection, anxiety over new and more aggressive COVID variants, the close-but-not-close-enough promise of being vaccinated, and deep concern about the current state of my eldest child’s fragile mental health all collided in slow motion.
Friday, January 8, 2021…12:28pm The end of week 43 As my sister-in-law said on Wednesday, 2021 said to 2020, “Hold my beer…” What do we have to do to get…
We will mark the end of this year with hearts that are heavy for all that has been lost and also hopeful for all that still can be.