December 2020. Um…
Yeah—so that just happened. Although life outside this living room looks pretty different than last year, I’m back in this old familiar spot, warmed by a fire that’s been burning all day. Across the room, another Christmas tree stands tall and twinkles. And I’m cozy beneath a blanket—writing, reflecting, and rereading notes from conversations with an 80-something ghostwriting prospect whom I met in January.
“With hair like that,” Coach said the first day we met, “you would never have been able to play for me.” On subsequent calls, he welcomed me to the team, spoke in pep talks and platitudes, shared some favorite quotes, and became an unlikely friend. Unfortunately, we didn’t get far on his project. He died in 2020, with untold chapters of his story still tucked away inside.
“Think
before you act.”
This year, Cole (15) grew taller and learned to drive. He’s adjusted to online school and uses lifting, pick-up sports, work, and Snapchat to stay connected to a handful of friends. He’s begun saving for a car but was furloughed from his first job last month. So he hustled and got another one. Then another. “Mom,” he bellowed before he left for work today, “I’m finna go crush it!” He runs hot, showers at least three times/day, and rarely wears a shirt (or pants or shoes). Whenever he passes his own reflection, he checks himself out, flexes, winks, then smiles. And like his dad, he often drops to the floor and does pushups throughout the day. “Woo!” he exclaims as he jumps up, carries on, and leaves a trail of clothing, dishes, wrappers, or wet towels on the way back to his room.
“If
it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well.”
In January, Maya (16) got her driver’s license, and she’s been chasing independence ever since. Before her club volleyball season was cut short, she competed in Portland, Ellensburg, and Chicago tournaments. She hibernated this spring—exasperated by lockdown and the initial inefficiencies of online school. And she emerged this summer with a bucket list of things to do and plans to visit cousins with her Papa. She continues to work and connect with her closest friends. This fall, she began Running Start. Episodes of The Office play on repeat in the background of her days, and she listens to “vibey music” at night. Last weekend, she stayed up all night assembling basement furniture and decorating her own tree. It’s simple and elegant—adorned in white and dotted with lights.
“If it were easy, everyone would do it.”
Paul (46) got stoked in 2020. Exceeding the goal he set in January, he’s already logged 103 days of kiteboarding this year. He daydreams about wind, scrolls through weather apps, and often makes that hang loose (hang ten?) sign with his hands. Paul’s the kind of friend that weighs both sides, sees the big picture, offers great perspective, and is always down for another round of online backgammon. So when he isn’t kiting, he’s often on his phone. This year he bought and sold properties and put together more deals. Clever and ever-resourceful, he also side hustled like no other (mobile hot tub, anyone?).
“Never
think it’s too late or too early to begin.”
For
me, 2020 was a year of reckoning. I (44) felt gratitude for time and space to
run, then stalled by an overuse injury. I wrote for new clients, read nearly 40
books, and studied for fun with Coursera. I delighted in my garden and basked
in summer sun, but struggled to reconcile uncertainty, canceled plans, and injustice.
For the first time I can remember in nearly 25 years with Paul—across the chasm
of an unshared experience—our skin colors were an irreconcilable difference. I
was reminded this year of the freedom that comes with routine. The advantages
that come with being underestimated. The catharsis that comes with cleaning up.
And the value of a clear shelf, a good walk, falling seven, and rising eight.
“The
best things in life aren’t things.”
Amid the calm of days that looked mostly the same and the storms that also came with our differences, we made great memories. There was the dance party DJ Maya hosted—complete with a disco light, hydration shots, and a turntable constructed from printer paper, plasticware, and sticky notes… Vulnerable conversations around our dinner table following George Floyd’s murder... Spring and summer RV trips through WA, OR, CA, NV, ID, UT, and AZ… Houseboating on Lake Powell with 25-year family friends... A three-day, 21-mile backpacking trip along the high divide of Olympic National Park… hiking, kiting, and paddleboarding in our own backyard… Landscaping, stacking wood, and finishing home projects... Belting out piano ballads and belly laughing one slap-happy evening… Well-timed visits from my mom and a handful of old friends… Helping Paul’s brother pull off a surprise proposal… Spending Thanksgiving with family in Denver… Connecting across miles over Queer Eye and Cobra Kai… And the weekly anchors of work, evening bike rides, sport-court yoga, Tuesday-night walks, Wednesday-night Zoom calls, and Sundays with the Seahawks.
“Time
is the greatest gift of all. Don’t waste it.”
One of my favorite podcasters recently concluded that “2020 sucked hard.” But I’m not sure if I buy that narrative. And I doubt Coach would have agreed. Because 2020 was both hard and beautiful. This is life. And in the stories of the hard and beautiful mess of this year—despite uncertainty, disappointment, heartbreak, and loss—time remains. Beautiful. Messy. Time.
To 2021,
Abi, Paul, Maya, and Cole
