COVID, week 42 + one for the books, for sure
At this point, just a handful of hours remain between the end of an impossibly hard year for so many people and one brand spankin’ new, one that’s full of new hopes and dreams and aspirations and new everything that matters.
Of course, with the COVID-19 pandemic still raging (341k deaths in the US, with almost 25k deaths coming from California alone [and 674 from SCC]), I find it hard to believe that huge swaths of the population will be waking up on January 1 feeling that life has (abruptly, magically) fundamentally changed. The reported epicenter in the world right now is the US, and specifically, southern California, in LA, San Bernardino, Riverside, Orange, and San Diego counties. ICU availability down south is at 0% and hospitals have altogether ceased elective procedures and are turning away patients and ambulances. None of that will magically change when the clock strikes twelve tomorrow night.
Critical and vulnerable populations are getting vaccinated nationwide (including my medical pro siblings, yay!), which is awesome and definitely a step in the right direction, but at least in these parts, I don’t anticipate any noticeable changes to life as we know it for many months still. It’s easier to grapple with that reality on some days more than it is on others, as I imagine it is for you.
(And here, on the days when you’re feeling your feelings on the matter, I’ll jokingly but also seriously recommend taking up running, of course, but also rage cleaning. Both are sufficiently exhausting, quite productive, and probably pretty healthy, at least most of the time).
Usually I find new year’s eve and the promise (and premise) of new years fairly invigorating; it’s less about the whole new year, new you! glossy marketing than it is about just the feeling that turning a page can yield. Don’t fight it; we’re hardwired to gravitate toward these types of “temporal landmarks” (and if you want a fascinating read on the subject, I’d recommend Daniel Pink’s When). For what it’s worth, I’m also one of the weird ones who loves Mondays and who, of course, is a (very happy) morning person. Don’t @ me.
This year, however, I’m looking forward to the new year simply out of hope — that we’ll be able to get the pandemic under control-slash-people will begin believing in science; that our new POTUS and his uber-qualified team of real-life experts, who represent a broad swath of our population, will begin to rectify all that was destroyed and undermined in the past four years; that our citizenry will make progress toward ameliorating race relations and our country’s messed-up history; and so much more. Dream big, right? And hell, I hope to see my family and my in-laws sometime in the next twelve months. That, too, would be amazing.
Any one of those things happening would be tremendous; the trifecta (or trifecta-plus) would be downright divine. None of it will have transpired when I wake up on January 1, of course, but knowing that we are inching ever closer when the calendar turns on January 1 elicits hope (and — dare I say — happiness) in ways few things have recently, and I say that knowing full well that we are doing just fine in the pandemic, all things considered.
Our privilege and good fortune aren’t lost on me, and my consciousness of our reality makes me yearn for change to manifest that much more quickly for all who are more adversely affected by everything that has happened this year.
Perhaps that’s the beauty of a new year; there is so much possibility, so many blank slates. Nothing is off-limits because nothing has happened yet.
Happy new year to you and yours. xx
