Normally, I would be at the family farm in Georgia with friends I've known literally my whole life. This year, two of our moms would not be there, having died, though not of Covid. It's because of Covid that we aren't congregating there and likely never will again. That's not necessarily because of Covid, but it is because of 2020.
My professional life has been turned upside down by the pandemic. Teaching is harder than it has been since I was a young teacher. Parenting remains hard. Getting older and less healthy remains hard.
But I'm very lucky. I'm materially well off. Whatever struggles my sons have had and will have, we are in a position to support them. My school is better off than most and did a good job this fall, at least, with containing the pandemic.
I don't know what 2021 has in store for us. I'm not so naïve to believe that things will get better because we flipped a page on the calendar. Not having that orange-tinted fuckstick in the White House will help my equilibrium some. If we say 2021 can't be worse, we are setting ourselves up for something awful.
I certainly hope this year is better for all of us. Hope is better than the alternative.
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