One thing I will take from 2020 is moving more slowly. At first it felt like a constraint. There was a lot LESS. Less bopping from here to there. Less seeing people I love. Less adventures. Less security in the health of those I love. Less trust in our government. It felt like there was just less beauty and wonder. With the less-ness, I inevitably started doing less and moved way slower. Not to dismiss the very real horrible impacts of 2020, I am grateful for learning to move more slowly. I started observing flowers peeking out of cracks in the sidewalk on my walks. Rather than rushing to work, I watched the cedar waxwings eat berries outside my bedroom window when I woke up. I took in the smell of my morning cappuccino and thought about how to craft the perfect bowl of cereal. I started picking a bouquet of flowers once a week to take turns sitting in an old paprika spice jar in my room. I practiced smiling with my eyes in the mirror, and then put intention into my brief and masked interactions with strangers. What I learned from 2020 is that I can always slow down, notice, and find gratitude in the little delights in my day.
2020 felt like a year of sameness. I was forced to find new markers of the passing of time, of difference, of growth. In the absence of travel and holidays, I had the accumulation of dust and the length of my hair. But I also had plants sprouting new leaves and the cycling of books in and out of my Little Free Library. Loved ones passed, friends got married, babies were born. I made art, I grieved, I protested. Despite feeling frozen in time, life went on, and so did I.
2020 was a year that lacked in many ways – hugs, dinner parties, family gatherings — but it did not lack for lessons. I learned to surf in 2020, and one important lesson I learned the hard way is that you don't want to get caught inside when the set waves roll in. It's usually not obvious when the set is going to start, and during the lull there are endlessly many little bumps vying for your attention and interest, sometimes even masquerading as the real thing. It can be fine to have a little fun riding them in between sets if you time it well. But you want to be in good position for the big waves when they come. At the end of the day, your surfing experience is going to be dominated by how you ride the big ones.
Dude what a great question. In pondering this question, I think I’ve discovered that I really only learn from things after the experience itself is temporally separated from me, and then I can reflect on what happened and “learn from it.” Like many people, 2020 has felt like 12 months of ~#_&*@^ )!!l$(*%, and even with it essentially being over with Jan 1 only 4 days away, I think I won’t learn from 2020 in any meaningful way for a while.
This year I learned one of the most important lessons of my life: that no matter how difficult it gets, you are always surrounded by an abundance of love. Shelter in place has often made it more difficult to feel that love, but learning how to intentionally connect when it's hard to do so is a valuable skill (and one that will never leave you). Virtual technology has enabled us to play games with people on different continents, collaborate on music or other creative projects, help a friend get her hours for a yoga certification -- all of that, and the conversations with my housemates in my quarantine pod, I will forever be grateful for.
2020 taught me that my worth is not measured by my productivity or what that productivity can buy. I am more than my output and rest is necessary. There's gotta be a new way to work. A new way to feel valued and fulfilled outside of working tirelessly in jobs/careers even if we love them. That's what I hope to explore in 2021.
2020 has been a wild and emotional ride. Moving away from my childhood home to a new state right in the midst of the pandemic was asking for some amount of intensity, but I couldn’t have guessed how much. I’ve learned about being in conflict, hurting others and being hurt, and the great power I have inside me to be a part of the healing. It’s not wrapped up with a bow this year, but some deep tectonics shifted in 2020.
Gathering is a privilege that is not guaranteed. Nobody owes you their time and to see someone in real life is a real gift. Body language communicates a lot that a phone call or a video chat fails to capture. A significant unseen portion of our social life is constituent of the unplanned social interactions incumbent to quotidian life: the conversations in the hallway at the office, during transit, at the park, in cafes and bars.
One thing 2020 has taught me is the inherent interconnection of our lives. I used to think my different ‘selves’ and pursuits existed on separate tracks: health, career, love, spirituality, etc. Instead, 2020 — with its boundary-blurring quarantines and strains on connection — revealed how overlapping all of these things really are. How I show up in my work is tied up with how present I am in my relationships. The confidence I derive from feeling grounded and healthy in my body only strengthens my creative pursuits and ability to tackle daily logistical challenges. More and more the assumed distinctions between these areas fall away; they emerge as overlapping pieces of the pie. And while this could seem overwhelming, more so it has felt simplifying and reassuring — I am on the right path. I am following my instincts, one small choice and pleasure at a time. Because of course, “How you do anything is how you do everything.” Sliding into this new year, I hope to continue to bring intention and awareness to the different aspects of my life, and to allow them to flow increasingly together.
My very simple answer: 2020 taught me how to cook! And wildly, that was one goal that actually stayed continuous, from before the pandemic to during it. I'm grateful beyond words to have had cooking to both ground me and help me grow during such an excruciating time.
The years leading up to this one were, for me, full of movement and growth. So much so, that I had begun to associate impermanence with growth and growth with satisfaction. Naturally, 2020 put a halt to all that. The big lesson for me is that I can be happy and grow in unexpected ways while also being grounded. I have a lease for the first time in 3 years, am in a delightful and nourishing new relationship, and have been taking care of plants! All of this is pushing me in new ways and I'm grateful for the opportunity to see my life in this new light, and of course that my closest loved ones have been safe and healthy.
One thing I will take from 2020 is moving more slowly. At first it felt like a constraint. There was a lot LESS. Less bopping from here to there. Less seeing people I love. Less adventures. Less security in the health of those I love. Less trust in our government. It felt like there was just less beauty and wonder. With the less-ness, I inevitably started doing less and moved way slower. Not to dismiss the very real horrible impacts of 2020, I am grateful for learning to move more slowly. I started observing flowers peeking out of cracks in the sidewalk on my walks. Rather than rushing to work, I watched the cedar waxwings eat berries outside my bedroom window when I woke up. I took in the smell of my morning cappuccino and thought about how to craft the perfect bowl of cereal. I started picking a bouquet of flowers once a week to take turns sitting in an old paprika spice jar in my room. I practiced smiling with my eyes in the mirror, and then put intention into my brief and masked interactions with strangers. What I learned from 2020 is that I can always slow down, notice, and find gratitude in the little delights in my day.
2020 felt like a year of sameness. I was forced to find new markers of the passing of time, of difference, of growth. In the absence of travel and holidays, I had the accumulation of dust and the length of my hair. But I also had plants sprouting new leaves and the cycling of books in and out of my Little Free Library. Loved ones passed, friends got married, babies were born. I made art, I grieved, I protested. Despite feeling frozen in time, life went on, and so did I.
2020 was a year that lacked in many ways – hugs, dinner parties, family gatherings — but it did not lack for lessons. I learned to surf in 2020, and one important lesson I learned the hard way is that you don't want to get caught inside when the set waves roll in. It's usually not obvious when the set is going to start, and during the lull there are endlessly many little bumps vying for your attention and interest, sometimes even masquerading as the real thing. It can be fine to have a little fun riding them in between sets if you time it well. But you want to be in good position for the big waves when they come. At the end of the day, your surfing experience is going to be dominated by how you ride the big ones.
Dude what a great question. In pondering this question, I think I’ve discovered that I really only learn from things after the experience itself is temporally separated from me, and then I can reflect on what happened and “learn from it.” Like many people, 2020 has felt like 12 months of ~#_&*@^ )!!l$(*%, and even with it essentially being over with Jan 1 only 4 days away, I think I won’t learn from 2020 in any meaningful way for a while.
This year I learned one of the most important lessons of my life: that no matter how difficult it gets, you are always surrounded by an abundance of love. Shelter in place has often made it more difficult to feel that love, but learning how to intentionally connect when it's hard to do so is a valuable skill (and one that will never leave you). Virtual technology has enabled us to play games with people on different continents, collaborate on music or other creative projects, help a friend get her hours for a yoga certification -- all of that, and the conversations with my housemates in my quarantine pod, I will forever be grateful for.
2020 taught me that my worth is not measured by my productivity or what that productivity can buy. I am more than my output and rest is necessary. There's gotta be a new way to work. A new way to feel valued and fulfilled outside of working tirelessly in jobs/careers even if we love them. That's what I hope to explore in 2021.
2020 has been a wild and emotional ride. Moving away from my childhood home to a new state right in the midst of the pandemic was asking for some amount of intensity, but I couldn’t have guessed how much. I’ve learned about being in conflict, hurting others and being hurt, and the great power I have inside me to be a part of the healing. It’s not wrapped up with a bow this year, but some deep tectonics shifted in 2020.
Gathering is a privilege that is not guaranteed. Nobody owes you their time and to see someone in real life is a real gift. Body language communicates a lot that a phone call or a video chat fails to capture. A significant unseen portion of our social life is constituent of the unplanned social interactions incumbent to quotidian life: the conversations in the hallway at the office, during transit, at the park, in cafes and bars.
One thing 2020 has taught me is the inherent interconnection of our lives. I used to think my different ‘selves’ and pursuits existed on separate tracks: health, career, love, spirituality, etc. Instead, 2020 — with its boundary-blurring quarantines and strains on connection — revealed how overlapping all of these things really are. How I show up in my work is tied up with how present I am in my relationships. The confidence I derive from feeling grounded and healthy in my body only strengthens my creative pursuits and ability to tackle daily logistical challenges. More and more the assumed distinctions between these areas fall away; they emerge as overlapping pieces of the pie. And while this could seem overwhelming, more so it has felt simplifying and reassuring — I am on the right path. I am following my instincts, one small choice and pleasure at a time. Because of course, “How you do anything is how you do everything.” Sliding into this new year, I hope to continue to bring intention and awareness to the different aspects of my life, and to allow them to flow increasingly together.
My very simple answer: 2020 taught me how to cook! And wildly, that was one goal that actually stayed continuous, from before the pandemic to during it. I'm grateful beyond words to have had cooking to both ground me and help me grow during such an excruciating time.
The years leading up to this one were, for me, full of movement and growth. So much so, that I had begun to associate impermanence with growth and growth with satisfaction. Naturally, 2020 put a halt to all that. The big lesson for me is that I can be happy and grow in unexpected ways while also being grounded. I have a lease for the first time in 3 years, am in a delightful and nourishing new relationship, and have been taking care of plants! All of this is pushing me in new ways and I'm grateful for the opportunity to see my life in this new light, and of course that my closest loved ones have been safe and healthy.
2020 was the year I did everything as if no one was watching... because they weren't.