Well, we’ve finally stumbled across the finish line of 2020, some of us worse for the wear than others. Congratulations to us.

With all my complaining and moaning, my anger, frustration, sadness, anxiety, and fear, I’ve come out on the other side of this horrific year with just a bit of an emotional limp. With every bit of gratitude I can muster, I salute all those smart and brave and heroic humans who have truly endured the 2020 flames of hell, some of whom came back and some of whom did not. My troubles have been small by comparison. Actually simple annoyances, if I really want to be honest.

I’ve been privileged to be able to stay at home, to be safe and warm and well-fed and hugged. I’ve been able to read and listen to good music and watch some amazing television and zoom with family and friends. During this time I’ve struggled with what to make, because creativity is indeed one of my life lines. So far I’ve managed to eke out three separate bodies of work and have continued working on a couple others. I’ve also drawn and painted. These endeavors have helped keep me afloat. As one who veers easily toward depression, I’ve needed these life jackets and have been grateful that the “maker” part of me hasn’t shut down during these uncertain and disorienting times.

A wise friend once told me that during times of DEstruction, we need to find a way to be CONstructive.

I imagine I’m not the only one who has spent a great deal of time this year looking inward. I’ve sat quietly thinking about my mortality, about what’s really important, about who means what to me, about how well (or not) I live my days. I’ve contemplated what can be pared down, how I can be filled up, what about myself can be turned around to point in a new direction. Where and with whom and how do I want to live the last third (?) of my life. Will I leave behind any sort of noticeable legacy, and what will it look like?

My oldest brother has been using his time to write essays that will likely come together as a memoir at some point. As always, he’s inspired me.

A few weeks back I began drawing some pictures (in my typical childlike style) of myself as a kid and writing a sentence or two to describe them. This led to lots of questions about who I really was as a young child, and since my siblings’ memories are about as bad as mine, and because my parents and all other older relatives are no longer living, I’ve begun to do some research by digging out baby books, scrapbooks, diaries, old photos, and home movies to help shed light on foggy recollections of my early life. I decided to make a book about my young self as a gift for my grandchildren, and this has quickly turned into a major pandemic project.

While this may seem like a selfish and even greedy way to pass my days during quarantine, I’ve discovered that it’s a pretty good way to help answer some of the questions I mentioned above. Knowing where you’ve been should make it easier to figure out where you’re going, right?

So, I’ve got about 20 pages done, and I must say I’m having a great time getting to know moi. I hope the grandchildren will enjoy learning that I was once a kid, too, just like them.