It’s Been A Year

This weekend marks one year since the Coronavirus pandemic began to impact our lives here in New Jersey. What started as a two week long shutdown to “slow the spread” soon turned into a year of temporary closures, businesses shuttering for good, loss of loved ones, and a year that we will never forget. I worked at Wet Ticket in Rahway on 3/13/20 and every conversation was about what we thought might happen.  I also distinctly remember having one last drink at the bar at The Irving Inn in Rahway as we discussed how long we would realistically be shut down and said our goodbyes, unsure of when we’d see each other again or be able to enjoy a drink together. There was laughter, there were hugs, there were no masks or plexiglass dividers. We walked away to head home and hunker down.

Initially there was a level of enjoyment at the idea of not having a commute and the chance to enjoy things I rarely got to do. I thought about the recipes I would finally get to try (hello, red wine braised short ribs) and as yoga studios began to offer online classes I was thrilled to take classes with teachers hours away from home. I went to the liquor store to stock up on wine and I made sure to have pizza rolls because I was treating life like a two week snow day. Yes, I was naive as hell. But that excitement soon shifted into a reality check as I began to recognize that this was not just a health crisis but a moment in history. Suddenly I was very aware that two weeks was not just two weeks. I began to take photos of the world through my eyes and started to document the ways my little corner of New Jersey was changing as life as I knew it was turned upside down. I remember waiting in line at the supermarket before it opened with a crowd of other people hoping to find the increasingly hard to find items like meat, bread, and the rarest of all: toilet paper and paper towels. I saw empty aisles in stores and over time tape marks began to appear on floors indicating where the “six feet apart” mark was. I sat home as schools made decisions to remain closed and a job that previously told me we would never be able to work from home demanded just that. 

And then moments in time began to slow down as the impact began to hit me personally. I learned of the death of my principal at work--a man who was seemingly the picture of health. He was one of the most incredible colleagues I’ve ever had and I was in shock. I cried with my coworkers via conference call as we comforted one another without the ability to hug during a moment of loss. It was the most impersonal way to be there for one another but was the only way that we could be. I found out that my friend’s father died from the virus and did my best to console her via phone, knowing that at that time she couldn’t even have a proper funeral for her father and that he died in a hospital without a loved one there to hold his hand. I spoke with friends who lost people or who had the virus themselves and heard firsthand accounts from nurse friends. We all tried, and failed, to wrap our brains around this shared trauma. The pandemic’s impact became very real and very scary and I woke up from nightmares so many nights where my subconscious paralyzed me with images of my father or mother succumbing to COVID-19. 

And yet in between this juxtaposition of quiet contemplation and fear, there were these inspiring ways the world was changing. I sat at home and watched musicians in Nashville play songs while receiving donations to keep food on the table and support their livelihood. I felt admiration as businesses constantly evolved and pivoted as rules and regulations changed without warning and they did whatever they could to stay afloat. I ordered take out from as many businesses as I could and understood to look of appreciation in the eyes of the employees and owners. I saw communities coming together with kindness and love in ways that I hadn’t seen in a long time. I watched closely and intently as the world transformed to contain beacons of hope in the form of window signs expressing thanks to healthcare workers and first responders and organizations provided food and coffee to tired doctors and nurses working on the frontlines of events they always knew could happen but never thought they’d see in their lifetime. Signs popped up on telephone poles or in towns with sentiments of “It’s going to be okay”. I found myself with the ability to work from home and therefore had the chance to apply for and adopt my incredible dog, Jersey, who is asleep next to me on the couch as I write this. 

As I began to reflect on the last year, I became aware that while New Year’s Day is January 1st, this weekend is really the new year. This is when we ring in a new year with life opening up more each day, businesses slowly transitioning from surviving to thriving, and the knowledge that we can be truly grateful to be here in 2021. We hold space in our hearts for those we lost and we will certainly never forget the year that we collectively experienced. But I hope that as you look back on the past year, you are able to dig deep and see how the seemingly mundane moments of life are actually quite lovely and there to be appreciated. The act of grabbing a morning coffee means that your local coffee shop is open for business. If you get stuck at a red light on the way to work it means that you have a job to go to. The enjoyment of dining out at a restaurant is more than just “I don’t feel like cooking” but is actually a celebration of the chance to experience cuisine. A hug, now or when you’re ready, between you and a loved one is no longer a casual greeting.  And the blessing of life, of being here, of being able to feel the best emotions and the hardest is a gift, even on the days that it doesn’t feel that way. 

I wish you joy, hope, gratitude, and time to think of ways to honor the memory of those who did not make it to this new year. And perhaps as the countdown begins, you can select a resolution, mantra, or goal that you can take with you into what I’m regarding and the True New Year. If nothing else, take note of the resiliency you never thought you had and the strength you never thought you’d need. May the rest of 2021 bring you all the things that 2020 could not. Happy New Year.