Hindsight Is: 2020 Edition

Woof. 2020. We've (mostly) made it through.

Every year before I write this post, I go back to read my previous "Hindsight is" posts. (Linked here, if you feel like a trip down my memory lane: 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019). The stark contrast of this year to prior ones was almost laughable, but mostly sadable. Like, so sadable. The state of the union left something to be desired, putting it lightly!

2020 was like looking both ways before crossing the street, and getting hit by a plane. But funny enough, when also looking back at my goals post for this year, I felt an odd sense of calm. Even though I came at it much more sideways than I intended, I really did accomplish a lot of the vibe I set out for. It was to be the year of clarity - and even though things were extremely unpredictable, after I went through all the stages of grief for this "year of loss," I did come through the other side with a better understanding of my personal feels, relationships, etc. It was a real trip reading that post and reflecting.

Anywho, onto the 2020 recap...
((Note that this more or less completely fails to capture the dumpster-fire nightmare and wholesome wonderfulness and terror and joy that was 2020 - but, it's what came out when I typed.))

• We survived. Literally the biggest accomplishment. Surviving a pandemic, political turmoil, civil unrest, and everything in between. My car window was smashed in at one point, just to ice the cake. And while it seems like a lifetime ago, it was only February when my husband was in a tragic active-shooter situation at his workplace. I was so thankful for his safety then, and am grateful every day for the health and safety of so many loved ones during these trying times. 
• We moved up and out. We purchased our first home, moving up to the northern burbs and out of apartment living. I moved up to (another) a new role at work. And, our plant family expanded at an exponential rate.
• We celebrated life. Before the world shut down, we had a roaring 20's themed new years, a memorable Leap Day party, wing night, baby showers, lady pal movie night, happy hours and brunches, and of course the Shamrock Shuffle viewing before the lockdown. Weddings, showers, bachelorettes: everything looked different in a year of masks and Zoom gatherings. During our self-quarantine, we turned to virtual events like everyone else. Sidewalk visits and awkward video calls, with a constant theme: we miss each other and love each other and care so much about keeping one another safe. I also excessively celebrated the hatching and fledgling weeks of the baby falcons atop Miller, with the live cam feed that got me through the longest spring of my life. From watching space launches to getting video messages about random nonsense, ever little virtual moment felt like a big moment.
• We donated. Since it was more difficult to physically donate time, we did a lot of donating via straight-up cash. Being financially lucky during this time, we were able to put funds towards causes that matter to us, to try and help in the way we felt we could. We also volunteered to do absentee ballot processing on Election Day, which made for a good distraction and was really cool to be a part of history.*
• We escaped. Even though our honeymoon and several other trips were cancelled, we did take several days away in August, just to get out of our small apartment. Cooking and staying at an AirBNB in lake country was just the ticket. We also escaped through countless hours of television and movies, much like everyone else. I also meant to take up reading and failed, but did really get in a puzzle groove.
• We tracked. In January, we tallied up and realized we were eating out too often. So, in February, we foolishly did a month of NOT eating out - sigh, if only we'd have known. My bullet journal turned into a way for me to be more mindful of the days - noting if I'd gone outside, or spoken to friends or family, or eaten. Counting the hours of sleep lost or gained. And a daily note of the number of Covid deaths and infections, which kept my heart in a constant state of mourning, but also in a state of deep resolve - staying inside, not seeing my loved ones: that time lost could be time gained in the future. It could be a life saved. It was worth it. 

This summary lacks a lot of the depth of this crazy time, but it's been hard to put into words this turning point in history we've all experienced together. And how different we've each experienced it. I'm sad, mad, grateful, hateful, and every other feel, all at once, when thinking back. These months taught us all so much. Some of those lessons, I'm not at all happy about. And others, I really needed to learn. May this all help us grow and make a better world as we move forward. May we be stronger together, even when physically apart. May 2020 be a watercolor in the rain, and 2021 a blank sheet. A fresh start.

Slap some paint over 2020. Gloss 'er up a bit.
Time for a fresh start.

* I highly recommend volunteering to help at the polls or with absentee ballot processing to anyone who wants to better understand the election process. It was absolutely fascinating and it felt really good to contribute and help. (And, we ended up on the homepage of the New York Times!) You can contact your local elections commission for more info. 

Too Much Thyme On My Hands

It started off innocently enough... 

It was January 2020. I was feeling in a bit of a slump, so decided to spruce up / redecorate my desk at work. This included some brief research into fluorescent light tolerant plants, some pink cloud screen-prints, a Roger Sterling Funko, and several hidden Baby Yodas. The viney pothos I had inherited from a former coworker (and had delivered a slow death to) was replaced by a couple of spry ZZs and a pretty leafy thing that I was sure would bring me happiness and deliver additional productivity (spoiler alert: it is no longer with us). My black thumb and I knew we needed more greenery to make that cube life seem more exotic. It all looked so lovely.

Fast-forward to mid-March, after hours, as I haphazardly ripped out my monitor cords, threw my keyboard, mouse, and various electronics into a backpack, and scooped those green girls into my arms in a mad dash out to my car. The post-apocalyptic landscape of the cubicle jungle was eerily quiet, with miscellaneous cords snaking about half-cleared countertops. Half eaten snacks and partially drank cups of water still sitting, frozen in time. A gym bag still hanging from the hook. A sweater over the back of a chair. Two weeks of working from home was the edict. Just a precaution. No need to grab your things. We'd be back soon. 

I knew that was a fool's hope. I took everything I could carry and ran with it. Leaving a little trail of potted soil as I went. 

And suddenly in was May. Two weeks had turned into two months, and the latest from corporate was "mid-September" - which meant another four months on the horizon. Working from home had come with several perks, of course. Rolling out of bed mere minutes before my 7:30am calls. Being able to slowly become human / dress as a person as the day progressed instead of before leaving for a commute, a commute which no longer existed. Instead of spending any spare moments between meetings chit chatting with coworkers, one could pop in laundry. Instead of preparing an easily microwaveable lunch, one could bust out a pot on the stove. All those little perks were certainly there. But one can't ignore that confining an extrovert into a two-bedroom apartment all day, every day, with little separation between work space and living space, well... it's bound to come to a head at some point. 

As that cracking point loomed, I looked up ways to make a space less stressful, to add layers of joy, to brighten one's day. And time after time, the lists highlighted one constant: light and greenery. Light we had in buckets, but greenery was lacking. In addition to the desk ones I'd brought home, we had an inherited (giant) snake plant (which was half burned from having fallen on the radiator), an oxalis that I had been gifted after my short stint as a  middle school librarian (and had somehow kept alive for years), a few half dead bookshelf pothos, an overgrown succulent, and a stray cactus or two. We weren't plantless, we had about six living non-human things, but we certainly were no oasis. So, I decided to start my indoor landscaping journey.

With a mandate to use up vacation time, I found myself with many many half days in May and June. Being afraid to interact with the general public, I instead took drives to various gardening shops and nurseries where I could mask-up and explore options outside, or get curbside pickup. Each time, just quickly grabbing one or two plants that I had researched (and assumed I could keep alive) and dashing back home. After adding the first few, it occurred to me... my husband didn't realize I was welcoming new green guests to the apartment...*

It was the day he proclaimed, "Oh, I see you moved your office plant into the bathroom. It looks nice. Bet you thought I wouldn't notice!" with a note of pride in his voice that I knew. As I glance into the bathroom at the completely different variety of leaf, in a completely different pot, and gave him a kind "well done, you!" smile, I knew. And the game was officially afoot: how many plants could I bring in to the apartment before he began to notice? The answer: a lot. SO many. Maybe too many. This went on for months. It wasn't until three months after that day that he officially began to suspect and I finally confessed. 

Would it be shady to say that my sneaky plant routine got me through? That it brought my isolated-soul massive amounts of entertainment?** That this greenery game was sadly one of the highlight adventures of my year? Maybe. Probably. But regardless, I felt like I won. I somehow incorporated twenty or so leafy friends into the various nooks of our thousand square foot apartment before the game ended in August. And I certainly didn't stop expanding from there - our total tally upon moving*** in November was up to 43 greenies. And she's still growing, our little plant fam. 

Perhaps my want to add little pots of calm got a smidge out of hand over the months. Maybe one shouldn't simply buy a new bit of foliage every time they reach a tipping point. It's possible that flora isn't the only way to bring joy to a space. But all I know is, these plants have given me something to care for, on those days when I was too exhausted and worn out by the year to want to care for myself. They unfurled new leaves when it was time to push out the old. They wilted when they needed attention, reminding me that it's okay to communicate your needs. They adapted. Together we kept hydrated, we leaned towards the light, we breathed, and we continued to grow. They made 2020 succ a little less. 

Did you really think I wouldn't get a photo shoot with them? 
This pandemic is also sponsored by disco balls and Freddie Mercury.

* While he is an extremely intelligent man, well-learned and witty, his observation skills and awareness of his surroundings are sometimes laughabley bad. We once were at a stoplight, windows down on a summer evening, just chatting, no loud music on or anything. And the person in the car right next to us recognized my then-boyfriend. They rolled down their window and were yelling his name and waving at him. This happened for at least a full minute before I was finally like, "Um, are you literally not hearing/seeing this, I think they're trying to get your attention." And he literally had ZERO awareness that they were there. He often misses people saying hello. Doesn't always notice when I've added furniture or artwork, or rearranged things, etc. His brain is just preoccupied somewhere outside the corporal space of the here and now. Bless his heart.

** Like the time I could only get a later curbside pickup timeslot, so had to physically run down an alley, my arms full of green, to avoid being seen by my husband as he was arriving home from work - and then secretly repotted said plants in the second bathroom tub later that night. Or the time I brought home a comically large leafy monster and put it in a really obvious space and just stared wide-eyed at my husband for several days like, "SURELY you see it?!"

***Oh yeah, we bought a house. In case you didn't gather from the above, being trapped in a small space by myself all the time lead to me demanded more space. Because in 2020, a gal deserves a larger cage!

I'm a Hugger

My name's Gina and I'm a hugger.*

Are you a stranger who I've never met, being introduced to me for the first time? You're getting a hug. I'm sorry, I'll try to shake your hand, proclaim that I'm a hugger, and then will move in quickly before you object. I'm from the midwest, and was literally born and raised this way. Not sharing some sort of embrace upon meeting is the equivalent of me cold-shouldering you. I want to wrap you into my arms and give a quick squeeze that says, "We're going to be friends. Whether you know it yet or not." Because we are. Because I've just literally brought you into my circle: my physical arm circle and my metaphorical acquaintance circle. Welcome, about-to-be-friend. I hope you like it here.

Are you a friend, family member, or someone who I share any sort of fellowship with and need to be greeted upon our reunion? Then gettttttttt on in here, and welcome back to my open arms! I've missed you when you were away. I don't care how long or short ago it was when we last met, seeing your face brings me immense joy, and I want to bring that joy-face by my face with a big old hug. It's like you never left.

But it's not just meeting and greeting. When someone I care about is anxious or sad, or feeling (emotional) pain, I am there to hug it the hell out. I will literally attempt to smother away sadness with my unyielding arms. A strong hold to let them know, we're safe, we're secure, this link here is unbreakable and we'll get through this shit together.

It's not just a straight forward traditional hugs either. I'm a diverse hugger. When I see that a friend that needs a rescue while out at the bar, I'll swoop in and hug-walk-dance them away from the situation. If it's a coworker or hey-meet-this-guy-I-just-started-dating greeting situation, it definitely calls for an ass-out hug. If it's my Uncle Norris, only a bear hug will do. And if you're taller than me? Well, you can bet I will awkwardly attempt to assert my dominance by being an arms-over hugger (to varying degrees of success). There is a hug for every situation.

Don't get me wrong though, I don't want to sound like I'm some sort of hug-slut here. I don't want to devalue my hugs by saying just any old person on the street gets one. I'm not the "free hugs" guy. But given the choice, I'll always pick hugs, not drugs. Always.

Sadly though, now is not a great time for we, the huggers of the world. Social distancing guidelines and a lack of seven-foot-long arms make hugging fairly obsolete in this new normal. Sure, many of us are lucky enough to have other members of our household that we're confined with, but rounding out week nine of isolation means that those who share a roof with us are probably exhausted from the clingy bombardment of hugs. (And for those living alone, the stuffing has basically been squeezed out of all stuffed animals - and possibly real pets - at this point.) We have a lot of hug love to give, and I'm sad to think how things will be for us on the other side of this.**

In a pandemic, hugs don't just spread happiness and share love, they might also spread the virus and share sickness. Hugs have become a bit more dangerous. People will likely be more leery of coming into such close and intimate contact going forward. But you know, maybe that means that hugs will just become even more special? They'll be a way of saying, "We both are healthy at this point, so we can share a joyful squeeze in celebration!" or "I care about you so much that hey, maybe I'm willing to risk it - fall into my potentially-contagious arms, friend!" Maybe the value of hugs will skyrocket. And maybe, if we're lucky, some day we'll have vaccines and cures for all the bad things, and hugs will go back to just being a gesture of welcome and comfort, and not a rolling of the plague dice.

Come here, ya big lug!

* NOT a cuddler. Sorry, it is literally not in my nature. I've tried and I just can't. All you snugglers out there, just stay the eff off me, I'm not your kind. 
** There are plenty of good changes that I hope come out of this new normal. As I'm also a TREE hugger, I hope that some of the positive environmental impacts of humans not being in a constant state of rampant consumerism remain after. And that we all have a much greater appreciation for the outdoors and the beauty of nature. I hope the trees won't mind some big hugs once I'm unleashed on the world again (right now there are too many others out and about, I can't get safe-tree-hug-time).

There Are No Hurricanes in the Midwest

....But every time there is one, you'll hear opinions on it.

Hurricanes are major events, that come in and severely disrupt the lives of many coastal occupants. Big events make big news, so even living many miles away, when it's tropical storm and hurricane season, our nightly news is still bombarded with stories of incoming disaster. We watch the projected paths of destruction and see helicopter footage of crowded highways headed inland as evacuations are called for. We watch the newscasters awkwardly standing in torrential rain, being whipped about in the wind, talking about when things will "reach landfall." And then we watch the footage of destroyed cities, upended homes, and massive flooding. We see the poor stranded souls waving for aid from atop their roof, desperate as the water continues to rise around them, and the heroic rescue forces coming in to save them.

And then you'll hear a similar sentiment, almost every time: Why didn't they evacuate when they were told? They knew this storm was coming, they were warned, and they chose to stay there. And now someone else has to go in and risk their lives to rescue them. And now our taxpayer dollars are being spent to send in aid. All because that person didn't listen. 

I've heard these words come from the mouths of family members. From friends. From coworkers. From that rando sitting a few stools down at the bar as a news clip flashes between the innings of some sporting event. From many Midwesterners who've never lived in a place where they've had to deal with that sort of natural disaster.* As far as they're concerned, that person waving from atop their roof, clinging to a child, a dog, and/or a small bag of their last remaining earthly possessions: it's their fault they're there. They made a choice. They should've known better. Should've listened. They knew the risks and should've understood the consequences. 

But here's the thing: people don't like disruption. They don't like change. They don't want to put their lives on hold and don't want to be told how to live. Those people on the roof probably thought, when they saw those same projections on the news, "Well, maybe it won't be that bad. They're just predictions. Science gets it wrong sometimes. I can't just stop going into work, and throw my family's schedule and our lives into disarray because of some forecast."

And then they were told to evacuate for their safety, but they still didn't want to deal with the inconvenience (cancelling plans, dealing with the kids, etc.). They didn't want to be told what to do. Their neighbors heeded government warnings, and took the necessary precautions, and made the hard choice to evacuate. And when the hurricane struck, and those people found themselves on the roof, while their neighbors were safe elsewhere, they wished that they'd have dealt with the temporary disturbance and had evacuated. They wished they weren't the person on the roof, suffering because of their choices. They wish they'd listened to science. And, I'd like to think, they regretted how it had played out. 

So, here we are. As a nation, and as a global community, we're being told that we need to deviate from our normal routines. We need to make a stark departure from what we previously considered normal in order to help save the lives of others. We need to stop going into work, limit our travels, temporarily suspend group activities. We need to evacuate, not from our homes but into them. We are in the path of a major storm and the forecast shows a potential for devastating destruction. Scientists and governments are providing us with warnings. And we're meant to listen and abide as much as we're able. 

But it can be hard, as so often one's perspective is entirely local. When there is talk of this pandemic, it can be a lot to take in. We hear staggering numbers on the news regarding infection and death rates. Of mass unemployment. We are inundated with images of overwhelmed hospitals, of healthcare workers lacking protective equipment. Of unattended funerals, and ever growing mass graves. But here, outside my window, right at this moment, it's a beautiful and sunny day. Right now, in some counties in Wisconsin, there are still no reported cases of Covid-19.** Many Midwesterners are not (yet) personally living in one of those hellscapes on the news. 

And that's when I begin to hear those same folks from before start to spout sentiments that sound an awful lot like the people on the roof: Maybe it won't be that bad. Science gets it wrong sometimes. I can't just disrupt my life. Why should I have to limit myself for a problem that's not here on my doorstep? 

Because, in the Midwest there are no hurricanes. This seems foreign to us. It's a problem happening somewhere else, to someone else. But the disaster we're all dealing with now isn't a hurricane. It's not limited by a shoreline. It doesn't feed off of warm ocean water and die as it comes inland. It also doesn't understand invisible borderlines we've drawn on a map. It is a virus, and it is spread by people, not Mother Nature. And while, yes, sometimes projections aren't perfectly accurate, and, yes, we all don't like having to make hard choices and forced changes; but we have been warned and know what precautions need to be taken. We've been told how to protect our loved ones and ourselves, and we need to listen and evacuate inward. Because else, you'll end up being that asshole on the roof. The one who didn't listen, who waited too long to heed warnings, and then put someone else at risk (one of our frontline healthcare workers) to try and save them. 

Imagine you're watching your own actions from somewhere else: how would you be judging you? Would you be proud to see the actions you're taking to save others and help our global community? Or would you be thinking that you too regret how things played out  up until this point, from atop your roof?

This isn't a prison sentence: it's a choice to save lives.

* Here we just have tornadoes and don't worry, we get almost no warning for those lolz So we just get the total destruction part without the choice to evacuate and take our families out of harm's way. 

** Probably due to lack of testing but.... don't get me started. 

*** Extra disclaimer: I fully realize the privilege in being able to social distance and self-isolate. I'm very fortunate to have a safe and comfortable apartment, a loving spouse, and a job that allows me to work from home. I know that many people have been forced out of work and into financial hardship due to some of the restrictions being put in place to flatten the curve and slow the burden on our healthcare infrastructure. That unfortunately many don't have a safe environment to call home. I understand that loneliness, depression, and a myriad of mental health issues are rampant when we naturally social creatures are forced to isolate (especially for those in a solo household). And that many don't have the luxury to stay home, as they are essential workers, and have to go out into the world every day. I know there are those with pre-existing conditions and illnesses, and those who are further along in years than I, that are in a more complete and terrifying form of quarantine.  I. Know. This. Is. Not. Easy. And that it's easier for some than others. And that there are a lot of complexities. But we're all in this together, and our borders aren't solid barriers which a virus can't travel through. So this is really the most important group project of our lives. The assignment: to protect the vulnerable and our essential workers, and to limit the loss of life and spread of this disease as much as possible until a vaccine becomes readily available. Don't be the weak link. Don't be that asshole who doesn't do their part. Don't think that you getting a fucking haircut is more important than someone's life. Do your part. Make your future self proud. Listen to the old adage, because it really is better safe than sorry.

**** Extra extra disclaimer: I know people end up being the one on the roof for a lot of different reasons. I get it. Life isn't black and white. Just go with the example being drawn here. 

COVID-19 Killed My Honeymoon, and Other Feels from a Pandemic

Six months ago, I did the most adult thing I've ever done and married my love, on what I'd selfishly argue was the most beautiful day of 2019/ever. Three months ago, early cases of a new virus started being reported out of China. One month ago, my husband survived an active shooter situation at his work place. Ten days ago that little virus from China was declared a pandemic.

And a week ago, I was standing in our bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror, silently sobbing, and eating a large homemade cookie.

It was banana oatmeal chocolate chip, like my mom used to make. Because it's a comfort food of my youth (much like buttered saltines and Mrs. Grass's soup). And I had made a large batch earlier that day with a few bananas that had gone too ripe. (I knew I could freeze them if needed to and was in doomsday-meal-prep mode that day.)

A culmination of feels hit me all at once as I picked up the first still-warm cookie to try out. And as that wave broke, I dashed to the bathroom. The bathroom was a closed door that I could use to shield my husband from any further stress, so I wouldn't be a burden. A refuge for me to process my emotions before putting back on the brave face and stepping back out. It was a silent space for some introspection. I could take all the time I needed. No one questions a closed bathroom door.

It wasn't until I was standing in front of the mirror that I realized the cookie was even still with me. There, in my hand, warm chocolate chips began to smudge my fingers. I let out a quiet, childish chortle thinking about how great, now my fingers looked like they had poop on them. And that's when the tears started to flow. Because it was arguably funny and weird that my cookie and I were there, but arguably awful everywhere else in the world.

I let the tears flow, slowly eating my cookie, and stared into my own eyes to reflect on the root cause of this particular breakdown....

.... I finally let myself accept the fact that we wouldn't be having a honeymoon. The situation had passed a tipping point in Europe and the journey around Portugal and the Azores I had meticulously planned (kicking off April 1st) was simply not going to happen. We likely wouldn't physically be able to get there, due to new border restrictions being put into place daily. And even if we did, every restaurant, museum, or park we might want to visit would be closed. We'd put ourselves and others at risk as we hopped between a half dozen airports on our way to and from. And we'd likely be put on quarantine either upon entry or upon return, if we even could return.* We had to cancel our honeymoon; we had to stay home.

.... My husband was still going to have to physically go to work the next day (as he can't work remote like I'm luckily able to), and risk being exposed to this accelerating plague. I'd be home working all day alone, with my phone propped up nearby, forever worried about missing his call telling me that he was in danger (because I missed it once, and it broke me, and I never want to miss a call from him again). He was going to come home after work, carrying with him the news and germs of the day, and spiral into a news-reel black hole, obsessing over the increasing number of cases (and deaths), and wondering why more wasn't being done. And I wouldn't have any answers for him. Any words of comfort would continue to be fairly hollow, as the situation changed so drastically each day, and all projected outcomes didn't bode well. I couldn't console my husband and I couldn't keep him safe.

.... My mom was going to still go to the casino for St. Patrick's Day with my aunt.** And plenty of others were going to continue going about their lives like nothing was happening. And this virus would just continue to spread because the people of the world wouldn't give up their freedoms until the situation got so dire that they were forced to. And there was nothing I could do to stop that. I could practice social distancing or stay entirely quarantined, and I personally could do my part, but I couldn't control anything beyond that. I could talk til I was blue in the face about the steps that needed to be taken, and still be told that I was overreacting and this was all a hoax. My actions alone felt like they meant very little. 

.... We had friends losing their jobs, stepping into an unknown timeline of financial insecurity. People we knew with compromised immune systems (and conditions that make them more vulnerable) who were scared to go outside and worried sick about getting sick. Relatives who would hate it if you said it out loud but who, quite frankly, fall into the "elderly" category and are thus in a higher risk zone. We watched friends have to adapt their career and home situations, suddenly working remote and needing somehow to care for their children who no longer could go to school/daycare due to closures. Friends who are nurses and doctors who are on the brink of a real shitstorm and will have to face the biggest challenges yet to come. We saw other friends get stuck while attempting to travel, people rushing to get to their final destinations. Events were cancelled, with many more pending cancellation. Everything and everyone we knew would be impacted by this.

.... I was also just straight up pissed. Angry for all the selfish reasons, but also for the lack of preparedness on a global scale, for the senseless loss of life, for the amount of misinformation being circulated. And mad at myself, for not taking it more seriously sooner, for all the times I'd gone out and about and could've possibly unknowingly contracted and spread this virus to someone else. I was just so vexed that this pandemic was really happening to us.

.... The timeline was totally unknown. Would this really be over in a month? Or were we all about to sign up for a much longer tour of duty with coronavirus? Would everyone do their part and this would all move along faster, or would the lies coming out of the President's mouth have done irreparable damage? Even if we all quarantined, would it just spread again the second we all returned to normal and we'd have to wait a year for a proper vaccine? Would our honeymoon not be the only thing we'd have to cancel in what was to be our most travel-heavy year to date? When would it really end and how bad would it get? When could life go back to normal?

I talk a good talk about the steps to be followed: stay home, wash your hands, practice social distancing if you have to go out for vital supplies, flatten the curve, keep your mental health in good shape, be kind, thank essential workers, stay strong and united at a distance, etc. I talk that talk on any platform I can and hope it will somehow help, but at the end of the day, I was still the one cry-eating a cookie in a bathroom. No one is immune to the feels during this health crisis.

I'd wager I've not been the only one sobbing in a bathroom in recent weeks. And that I'm not the only one who feels like they're at the point where anxiety, anger, and helplessness walked into a bar (against public order that such facilities remain closed to stop the spread) and then they licked everything in sight, touched their faces, and ran about in the streets buying up toilet paper. And I'm certainly not the only one who had to cancel a honeymoon, or whose life plan has to look a little different based on recent events. I'm happy for a strange feeling of solidarity, but am also just so damn frustrated-sad-enraged that we're all in this mess together (...but apart, please stay home).***

It's okay to have cookie-cries in the bathroom -
just be sure to wash your hands for twenty seconds afterwards.

* Spoiler alert: they've since blocked all travel into Portugal, and the Azores have mandatory quarantines in place for all those entering. The bright side is, we were able to get full refunds for our hotels and AirBNBs - and some of the airlines we were to fly with, others we're still arguing with that we want refunds and not vouchers (since we have no idea when or if we'll be able to reschedule our trip and if we do we're uncertain as to which airlines we'd fly based on timing needs).
** Note that my mom and aunt are both now practicing better social distancing, and I know there's a certain level of guilt at their having continued to go on their annual casino holiday trip, but at the time of the above depicted scene, I was basically hyperventilating at the thought of them both getting infected over a fucking penny slot machine. 
*** I also feel grateful and lucky in so so many ways, but right now I just am not in the optimistic mood to talk about the sunshiny shit, friends. Perhaps in another post. 

The Year of the Cat

2020. Not just a new year, but a new decade. Holy cats.

Before I pop into my typical start-of-year lists (such as those done for 2016, 2017, 2018 and 2019), I'd like to point out that the title of this post is not actually accurate, but it's more a stylistic choice. 2020 will actually be the Year of the Rat, which is in direct conflict with the Cat. But, when I think about how I want this year to feel, I want to feel like I'm being wrapped in the smooth jam of an Al Stewart song, with the coolness of its Casablanca inspo. (Plus, the Cat is sure-footed and shares the characteristics of the Rabbit, in that it's earnest and determined to move forward towards its goals.) It's all a lot of flim-flam, but it feels like the feel I want for 2020.

If you'd have asked me moving into the last decade the "feel" I'd probably be seeking for the roaring '20s kick-off, I'd have painted a pretty Gatsby picture, heavy in debauchery, and not pointed to a soft rock song from the late '70s... but such is the turn life takes. And as I see stranger after stranger posting their "word of intention" for the new year, that leads me to cozy up with the "Year of the Cat" and my word of choice: CLARITY.

20/20 vision. 20/20 focus. Totally clear. In place of several years of chaos and scramble, 2020 will be the year of coherence, with freedom from ambiguity. Transparency: with my new husband, friends, family, coworkers; with finances, with intentions, with my thoughts. Simplicity in my emotions. Exactness in my actions.

It'll take a bit to settle into this word/goal/thing, but that's the aim. Clarity.

So, here are a few of the aims to that end.

1. Wrap up the wedding. It's time to stop putting off the remaining items just so I can secretly cling to the day a little longer. 2019 was the year of the wedding, 2020 is not. That means it's time to... Sell off any lingering wedding items I can (finally). Get the dress dry-cleaned/preserved. Finish reviewing vendors. Post up all the photos. Also: finish writing up the wedding related posts I started. They're all half done, may as well birth those babies. Time to take a clear step forward into newlywed status.
2. Be a better friend. Make the phone calls. Send the texts. Schedule the time and see the faces. Last year was a very selfish year for me and I emerged feeling like I'd let people down on the friendship front. Time to spread a little kindness and joy. (For family, too!) I want it to be clear that I care, and for people to know they're loved. 
3. Try to help the climate: both physically and politically. I've finally gotten better about bringing my own grocery bags to the store - time to level up. Because when Lewis the koala died, I literally wept. So, I couldn't handle the whole world going up in smoke. Also, it's an election year, and one of the best ways to help this dear planet will be to help elect officials who will pass policies to help and not hinder. I've got donations lined up, am hoping to volunteer at the convention, and overall won't make the same mistake as last time in not doing enough to help. There should be no confusion around how important elections are, and we need a focused effort to elect intelligent officials who will represent the best interests of the people (and the planet).
4. Bujo. Yes, I'm turning from my spreadsheets to a more artsy form of tracker and am dabbling in bullet journaling. Many habits will be tracked. Many doodles will be doodled. Many things will be put to paper with pretty colored pens. Thoughts and tasks are actionable and clear when written out.
5. My bod, my temple. 2019 was a big year for focusing on keeping my outward appearance in tip-top shape for the big day. This year I want to get back on that wagon (which, tipped over and rolled down into the river the past several months), and focus on the inward, too. I tried to calm my inner gossipy-bitch and rage-monster last year, but there's definitely more work to be done on that front. I need to more clearly understand my motives and feelings, and have a comprehensive plan to treat my body better.
6. Dejunk the junk. There is a real possibility we'll be moving out of our east side apartment at some point in the next few years. Time to start purging and streamlining now so I can avoid chaos for future-Gina. Simplify your stuff, and you simplify your life.
7. Days go by. Sometimes I fall into a binge-watching, life-on-the-couch funk (especially in the winter months) and realize my time could have been spent better elsewhere. This year I'd like to put more towards the elsewhere. I need to focus. 
8. Shaking that money maker. The beau* and I have been reviewing finances. I have spent the last several years rather proud of my financial situation, since having paid off my debt in 2018, and am still very proud, but when combining with a man who left college sans debt, I now feel woefully behind. What's his is mine and all that aside, we'll be attacking 2020 together, with combined forces, squaring away a money-gameplan for the big expenses ahead. I also want to be more mindful in general of what I'm putting money towards.** We're both being transparent with what we've got and where we want to go on the cash front, and will consult a professional to have a more exact approach. We want to keep things simple and keep prosperity a'bloomin'.
9. Get back to basics. What things do I enjoy doing? Time to do them. Puzzles. Writing (hey, blog, I think I've missed you). Chit chatting on the phone. Buying the fancy cheese. Playing dress up and going dancing. Reading a magazine about home storage and organization shit that I'll never actually do. Listening to disco. Writing snail mail. Simplicity and happiness. 
10. Work. Life. Balance. Starting another new role meant digging my brain into another new challenge. Those wheels tend to keep spinning outside office hours, and I have to get back to compartmentalizing. And really ought figure out if the career path I'm on is the right one. Introspection and crafting a clear path for myself, and figuring out how I want to spend the next 35 years of my work life. 
11. Charting a course. 2020 will not be short on adventures, with at least three bouts in Europe (and possibly a fourth) currently in the works. Itinerary crafting is one of my favorite hobbies, and since one never knows what the upcoming years might hold, I want to optimize our travels while we're still able to make them. A clear cut plan to make our journeys simple so we can enjoy our time together abroad. 

Precision and definition. Purposeful intent. Clarity. Working on clarity. I'm hoping that early on in this new decade, I'll have gotten to a point where I've calmed the anxiety in my mind and have a grip over what feels like looming chaos, and that this will be a kickoff year in a confident decade of positive change. Whatever happens, I'll sprinkle in as many buzzwords as possible. Because if there is one thing that's as clear as mud and totally lacking any ambiguity, it's a good buzz word! Cheers to the roarin' twenties, and the dawn of a new decade, friends!

Crystal clear. Object in frame. Focused.

* Now that he's a husband, I felt like maybe I should update the beau's blog name to something more appropriate, like mari (French for husband). Because hubby, hubs, etc. area all nicknames that make him sound like a walrus (which he is not, please his tiny-framed heart). And calling him my love or my man both have awkward connotations as well. But I'm still uncertain with the term so for now he'll still be beau. Also, I'm a little bummed that I didn't take advantage of calling him my betrothed more often - missed opportunity there!
** I read a financial bit of advice the other day that weirdly struck me. Ask yourself the question: if a stranger printed out your bank statement for the last month, who would they say you are? ((Insert blown mind chunks here)) Introspection is important.