Sun through morning fog, Ocean Beach 2020.
You’d have to be living under a rock or off the grid to not know about 2020. The year that will live in infamy. The suckiest year of my life. Of everyone’s life. The year everything and every person on the planet was frozen: frozen in fear, in worry, in anxiety, in depression, in a holding pattern of waiting for the other shoe to drop (a big shoe). Virus, politics, intrigue – these are the big picture challenges, the kind that the everyman has no say in. No matter how much we bitch and resist, we can’t change the outer world, we can only mold and whittle what’s within arm’s length.
I’ll admit I was frozen too, much as I tried to live a normal life. But life wasn’t normal this year, and the roadblocks were many and huge.
When I think about the last eleven and a half months, I feel as though I just lived through a decade of bad juju. Yet I struggle through, tread water when I’m too tired to fight, try to find solutions to the myriad of puzzles thrown at us. Thank God this year is nearly over, although I’m holding my breath as to the next year. It could be worse. It might be worse.
I haven’t done much writing this year. I hate to admit this, but I don’t write when I’m this out of kilter. Every once in a while, I do try. I pull out old material and look at it, especially on days after nights where I’ve dreamed of my characters and think of ways to make what I’ve already written more cohesive. I do a lot of thinking about writing. I’ve lived through these “dry” spells before, the last one lingering for nearly two years, and I know I’ll write again.
I should now start planning for the San Francisco Writers Conference, but 2021 has been canceled. Perhaps it’s a good thing, since I have nothing to pitch. This gives me another year to work, and maybe to finish something.
For those who don’t know what’s been going on with the rest of my life, here’s a sampling:
The HOTEL (and BAR)
2020 was not the best year to buy a struggling bed and breakfast, but yes, we sank a lot of our retirement money into this venture – and have been swimming against the current ever since. CoVid nearly killed us in April and May. Oh, we were open as hotels are considered essential infrastructure. FOUR guests in seven weeks. That didn’t pay the utilities. The bar closed down too. Summer was brisk but not full, the bar was partially open, but at least we weren’t struggling…much. After Halloween, more CoVid restrictions and the brakes slammed hard on any reservations.
Then there was the hotel roof, and subsequent flood, and resultant insurance claims, and total remodel of four rooms and partial repair of a couple of others. We’re still dealing with that.
Employee issues.
Local weirdness (I’ll have to write about this. Although too weird for words.)
The Gallery struggles. This year was tough on all creative types, especially artists who no longer had art fairs to depend on. It took three months longer than I’d expected to open (September 1). People all over were frozen, artists, customers. I hope spring will breathe some life into the art world.
HEALTH
Oh, I didn’t get the ‘Rona. Supposedly my husband did. He tested positive after testing negative, and he was sick, but after four days in bed, he recovered. I didn’t get a sniffle. My regimen? Tonic water (sometimes with vodka, but not always), one zinc tab daily, Vitamin D and B12, plenty of fruits and veggies, enough sleep, and daily exercise. Lots of sunlight, which is easy to get in Colorado where the sun shines nearly every day. Knock on wood veneer, I haven’t been sick all year.
MEDIA
Backing away, slowly. Deleted Twitter, too caustic and negative. Nearly out of the Book of Face, as I’m a first amendment loving gal and the shenanigans on that site make me angry. I’d rather not be angry. Gave up on ALL news except the local morning show. I must know the temperature and the forecast (as I’m driving back and forth into the mountains four or five times a week) and the weather guy is crazy nuts and I need laughter. Humor is the best medicine. If I turn on the TV to watch long term, it’s usually TCM. Old movies are the bomb. I’m living in a black and white world and I like it.
THE OTHER ARTS
If I can’t write, I find that doing other things with my hands (mindless pursuits, like wire weaving and basket making) most helpful. At least my anxiety is somewhat assuaged by the task, and I end up with artistic pieces I like (sometimes. for the most part.). Having a hobby like this is helpful when it’s December and the ground is frozen and digging in the dirt isn’t an option. (My garden was spectacular this year, even with a hailstorm!)
And now, for the QUICK THAW:
It’s hard to take your own advice and easy to give it. I plan on making the Quick Thaw part of my New Year Resolution regimen. Take a moment to do each of these things each day.
1. Movement. You don’t need a gym membership. Walk. Doesn’t have to be far or long. I had a neighbor who after a heart attack walked to the end of the driveway and back for a month before he went further. If it’s cold out, jump up and down for two minutes.
2. Read. Again, you’re not running a marathon. Just a page or two will do to start. Use reading to wean yourself from screens.
3. Find beauty and rejoice in it. Yes, things are challenging, things are ugly. But there is beauty in everything. Look for it and enjoy.
4. Create, if just for a moment. Your creation doesn’t have to be a magnificent work of art, just effort. Whether it’s writing or art or a batch of chocolate chip cookies. (In the case of the cookies, make it a small batch.)
5. Give thanks and let people know you care. As I mentioned before, things could be worse. They might get much worse. Don’t waste precious time wallowing in negativity. Love with intensity and make sure your loved ones know.
Each tiny action precipitates the thaw. Don’t let the frosty frozen conditions of 2020 creep in to the new year.
