If something happened and the course of the world has materially changed – it’s part of history. Our trail of records show that it matters to someone out there and that this event and all the record around it is the fabric of connectivity to the past.
In short, this is history. I despised studying history as a teenager. There was something absolutely boring about it. I owe this to a method of teaching where facts, dates, and textbook memorization are the key to a passing grade instead of teaching how to interpret facts and questioning the sources presented to us.
When 2020 began, I found myself in a panic: I must write and reflect on these historic times. If not for me, for future generations. Let the teens of tomorrow read and experience what was going on in the moment. Let the nuance of the day be understood and that the determination of who is the on “right” or “wrong” side of history is a decision that could rarely be made the next day. Let the day and its passion be recorded one facet at at time, one bias against another.
I failed at the task. I was overwhelmed. It felt like every day something new was happening: a oft-cited stat, a shocking headline, a scandalous atrocity, a new innovation. And we’re all on conference calls with dead space and all there is to do is talk, talk, talk to fill the silence and avoid the voids left by physical distancing policies. I couldn’t commit my full emotion to my screen and my page. To live through it once was enough; to recount for friend was torture; to reflect was not an option.
At some point, I deferred to technology. The Internet and the obsession with preserving permanence was comforting. There was no need to repeat the headlines or stats or novelty surrounding us. They will be there tomorrow for anyone to access. A fuller picture will develop with the appropriate exposures. If you know, you know. As for reflection, the power of the moment was imprinted into my being. Whatever I felt, it was going to be impossible to forget. The conviction would never overturn.
Twenty-twenty was the year that everything was ripped apart for everyone to see the world, the life for what it was. A mirror was held to each of our faces and if we dared to look away, there was an invisible hand that grabbed a shock of hair and forced us back to look straight into it. Shutting our eyes was futile. It stank like shit.
When we don’t document the records of our lives we lose something of the past that has abundantly contributed to our present state and dictates where we go. The choices ahead of us are a function of the choices behind us. If we want to change the opportunities ahead, it is imperative to understand the choices that brought us to where we are today. Keeping the record straight is quite possibly the most enriching but most difficult task at hand and something I failed at in 2020, but now – I have the strength to resume a life examined, a beautiful life, that can one day be worth examining to someone beyond myself.
Twenty twenty-one is for healing. It’s for cleaning up the mess. The spillage isn’t over but the end seems to be in sight. The road seems as difficult as has ever been. But now is my time to reflect. I am in a position to look back at 2020 with the courage to grapple the discomfort. I have the capacity to hear numbers and imagine the loss on a human scale. What is 300,000 dead when the desire to wake up and jump out of bed is as reliable as the L-train? I couldn’t find the strength to empathize with myself and so to empathize with dancing numbers was out of the question. Today’s 300,00+ person death toll is a source of purpose. I can face it myself; I can face those who cause harm, and I can face the hate.
To do this, I have three journals to date. They each serve their own purpose and feed from separate wells of emotion. They take different sizes, different colors, each with its own challenge for me to grow with. I am face to face with an about-turn from no documentation to over-documenting. This website is one of them (as much as I’m inclined to say “You’re welcome to be invited”, the reality is that history and history-in-the-making is still boring, so REALLY – THANK YOU for coming and reading).
What I wish for is for everyone to heal, to feel strength when they feel like the day can’t get worse, to realize they are important and they matter, and they are beautiful as a butterfly’s wings fluttering over a daffodil. I wish our journals (if you have one) are more than spotted with entries here and there but that they are bleeding the richness of our lives off the pages – we live life to the fullest, we will not be marginalized by the false presumption of power.
And I hope I can be a better person: to the world, to you, and to myself. Let the trauma of 2020 be the trampoline that launches us to better being.