May I Have a Word With You?
Every year I pick one word to guide my actions, thoughts, intentions, practices and relationships throughout the year. Lots of us do. I find it is a much better way to remain focused on self-improvement than devising resolutions when you’re rested and hopeful and have yet to resume real work.
Last year’s word eludes me. Whatever it was, I obviously abandoned it quickly in favor of another: Survive. It sounds melodramatic, but in truth every single one of us, whether touched directly by Covid-19 or not, were thrust into survival mode.
We had to elude an unknown and unseen killer and take a harsh look at friends, family and neighbors who reacted in ways we didn’t expect, even as death tolls rose and public health officials implored us to think of others. We had to survive months of quarantine with people whose habits, hygiene, hobbies and humanistic shortcomings we could no longer escape. We had to survive being unable to hold, touch, even see our closest family members, especially the already ill or elderly most at risk of exposure…to us.
We had to survive our own impotence, knowing there were children suffering relentless abuse and academic delay because their schools closed and they dare not turn on their Zoom cameras. We had to survive an economic meltdown and the mass hunger and homelessness it wrought. We had to fight survivor’s guilt if we were lucky enough to have a homebound job, knowing so many others were putting their lives at risk to earn their pay.
We had to survive the rising rage of inequality and collective anger after witnessing a man’s murder by police on television and realizing (some of us for the first time) that this was no isolated incident. We had to survive an inundation of bad news or blatant disinformation, regardless of which channel we chose. We had to survive a U.S. election that showed just how deeply divided we are as a nation. And some of us, including yours truly, had to survive the sudden onset of viral pneumonia that thoroughly ruined her Christmas.
It’s hard to take stock of your life when you’re just trying to take deep breaths. Even worse, you can’t convince yourself to get someone to drive you to a hospital that still has beds and can’t even convince your medical provider that you really do need a Covid test. You also secretly wonder: Why me? What did I take or not do that left me this vulnerable? What happened to my supposedly decent health insurance? Who did I pass by on an inhale that left me this way? And who do I now need to notify in case they suddenly fall ill too?
In light of this condition, my word for 2021 is Clean. I’m being more diligent about keeping my home free of dust mites and dog hair, grime and germs. I’m tossing anything I no longer use. I’m keeping my calendar open instead of overscheduling. My desk and drawers will no longer be taken over by clutter. I’m paying closer attention to what goes into my body, and maybe what comes out. I’m clearing out medicine cabinets and bathroom vanities. I’m restocking the pantry with items whose first four to eight ingredients are not just different names for the same bad carbohydrates to get around nutritional label laws. It means more time actually cooking, but I’m eager to break in a new cookbook. I’m going to clear out bad thoughts with more walks and hikes and runs. Get back into the habit of daily exercise after this forced hiatus.
I’m also going to clean up some messy relationships that have wrecked me in recent years. And, I’m going to clean up the completed manuscript I’ve worked on for almost two years now and consider what’s next for my first novel. In the meantime, I’ll work hard to turn in consistently clean copy for my day job that helps pay a majority of the bills. And, of course, I’ll continue writing posts to Run DMZ. Maybe this year typo free.
Photo of sunset along San Francisco's embarcadero back when cholesterol, not a coronavirus, was considered the silent killer.
