With all the hope and optimism 2020 opened with, no one could have predicted the dumpster fire that it was. I didn’t write many posts because I was consumed with processing and reacting to changing life circumstances. First, reflections on the before times…
Where was the last place you traveled freely before the pandemic started shutting things down?
I flew to Portland, Oregon the first weekend of February for a writing workshop with Pam Houston and Stephanie Land at the Corporeal Writing Center. I had been tracking Covid-19’s impact in Europe through Twitter and wondered if I should be concerned about traveling.
In the end, the weekend was a magical mix of music, writing, synchronicities, and what Pam calls “glimmers”, things that you overhear, witness, or take note of that may end up in your writing. I am most successful at living in the moment when I’m traveling and having new adventures. I’ve missed that the most these last nine months.
What was the last thing you saw amongst a big crowd before the pandemic hit?
A friend and I went were among the throngs at Christ Church Cranbrook in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan to see the self-described “Sarcastic Lutheran” Nadia Bolz-Weber on her book tour.
We snagged seats near the front and were treated to an amazing performance by America’s Got Talent finalists, the Detroit Youth Choir. I thoroughly enjoyed their joyous singing, but I wistfully wonder when we’ll be able to have those kinds of experiences again.
Michigan reported their first two Covid-19 cases on March 10th and the Governor declared a State of Emergency. By the following week, the state had experienced the first death and things were shutting down.
It’s been interesting to go back and read what I wrote over the course of the pandemic. In the beginning, there’s a sense of naivete and morbid curiosity as I was checking the Covid-19 statistics daily.
April hit me like a ton of bricks when I realized the 6-month California assignment I had applied for at my day job was cancelled. I died my hair purple and took refuge in nature, hiking and savoring each sunrise. Homes became workplaces with no commutes for decompression time.
There has been collateral damage but unlikely blessings as well. I’m grateful to have had so few of my loved ones seriously impacted by virus. I’m also blessed with a day job that allowed me to move closer to my family in North Dakota enabling me to spend Christmas with them, the first in 15 years.
I’m glad to leave 2020 in my rear view mirror, but who knows what 2021 will bring. Hopefully, widespread vaccination leading to lower cases, few fatalities, loosening of travel restrictions…and a return to gatherings for writing retreats, book tours, and live music.
It’s hard to believe there is only one month left in this decade. My wife tried to tell me 2020 belongs with the 20teens, but I’m not buying it. Remember the chaos of the pre-Y2K days and the impending doom of the new millenium? Again, hard to believe it’s been 20 years because it’s been largely forgotten, overshadowed by what happened 1 year, 9 months, and 11 days later.
This is that time of year when my thoughts inevitably turn to days gone by and those no longer with us at the Thanksgiving table. The memories surround me. I ate the Thanksgiving dinner my wife prepared at the sturdy ball and claw oak table that was my paternal grandmother’s. The same table where she changed my diapers, taught me to play Crazy 8s and Go Fish. The table that bears the dice dimples from countless games of 6-5-4 with my father.
I’m at an age where I could retire from my day job, but I am my father’s child and work gives me purpose. I’m hoping to have established myself well enough as a writer so that when I finally leave the day job, I’ll have momentum and works in progress to keep writing and creating.
necting with new people, finding out what was going in the world outside his door, and exploring different parts of the city. Though it will be a very limited side hustle, I’m hoping it will provide fodder for my fiction exploration.
I’m not going to lie, 2018 has been a year filled with challenges. Between my grief hibernation and my partner’s job chaos, there were no adventures or camping in 2018. We vow to change in the new year.
Some years the ideas came easily, like the year my ex had a Harley so we were born to be wild in our black leather.
It hit me like a gut-punch this week. In a year of firsts since my father passed, this would be the first Christmas without him. I crumbled at the thought, but sucked it up, stuffed my emotions, and went to work.
Deb Sinness, Author 