We are passing through our one year pandemic anniversaries—and we know not all pandemic experiences are created equal.
Some of us have newsfeeds that read like obituaries sprinkled with photos of large maskless parties that make you think—am I crazy? Or are you just an ass?
Some of us have the time and money to go on journeys of self discovery and self care. Some of us wake up from our sleep howling from pain and unprocessed grief. Some of us have doubled down on maintaining a status quo, digging our heels in to our own self-delusions. Some of us have found peace and clarity in identifying what we want and need for a better life and world. Some of us have lost our shit after reading an email threatening our livelihoods. Some of us have watched with tranquil contentment old bridges burn. Some of us are threatened every day by the confinement of prison walls—waiting to be remembered, waiting for liberation—while others on the outside complain about being “on lockdown.” Some of us cannot remember yesterday or plan for tomorrow. Some of us have found our present life’s calling.
Some of us are all of the above; some of us are dead.
Over the last 12 months, I have thought a lot about and prayed for those of you who sent me life-lines of love. What may have been to YOU just a walk, or hair products that love my curls, or a phone call, or getting caught in the rain, or a plate of lamb and couscous, or a card, or a grocery run, or a Zoom happy hour, or a yoga session, or a weird trivia competition, or a meme that made me laugh—to ME was water and emeralds.
Is that too much? I don’t care? After all, I’m the person who currently imagines my dentist and PT and the bodega man who sells the best chopped cheeses and the tres leches ladies who give me free slices when no one is looking and the corgi who walked up to me yesterday for pets and the vaccination check-in queens who think I don’t know Spanish but also think I’m QUE LINDA are among my bestest friends in the whole world.
And the surprise gifts just keep getting better.