It's that time of year again. We list our "best of"s, or reflect on our accomplishments, or make goals for the coming year.
But what can we say about 2020? Maybe "I survived!" is enough.
It's a year that will probably be looked at by the next generations as something the old folks talk about ad nauseum. The Spanish Flu was followed by The Roaring 20s. Will we get our own version? Because I think we deserve it!
I'm not going to rehash any of it-- hell, we've all lived through it, even if groups of us were looking at it through different colored lenses. There are going to be lasting effects on our psyches, certainly.
I've become more introverted.
I'm not the eternal optimist I used to be.
I fear I'll have a hard time breathing any time I get caught in a crowd.
Some of my relationships have been irreparably damaged.
And yet there has been some positives. I've grown closer with my husband and son. I've made use of our local nature center, which is good for both my cardio health and my mental health. I've built my baking business. And I've made some strides in my writing.
It's not over, yet. I'm afraid 2021 is still going to be rough. But I'm hopeful.
Knock on wood.