And somehow the world has continued to turn. Even at the moments when it felt like everything had stopped or maybe should have stopped, when we were too heavy to carry any further. Time still pressed forward. Tomorrow came. Maybe it looked a hair different than expected, but tomorrow still came.
There are a lot of things to be thankful for; there are a lot of things to mourn; and both exist in the same space. There are parts of the world that are somehow exactly the same and other parts that more resemble a dystopian hellscape.
We watched people selfishly refuse to get vaccinated, denying their responsibility in a society while trying to retain all the benefits of it. Again, what someone does in the privacy of their own home or what decisions they make that only affects themselves does not bother me; not stopping at red lights, jumping the counter to make your own coffee at Starbucks, and refusing to get vaccinated, I have a lot to say about that because of how it ripples out to others. As such, COVID has continued to evolve and evolve again in that space created for it by those people who repeat the eugenics argument that we should simply let it "run its course," and accept that it is okay to sacrifice people for their expected comfort (because no eugenicist, low-key or otherwise, thinks that they are going to be the one expunged). Smallpox ravaged the world for literal millennia; COVID could well be on course to do the same, if we continue to let it. And there are days now as a nurse where I have to wipe the ass of someone that denies the effects of COVID as they are currently suffering from it, demanding that we subscribe to some ridiculous internet hearsay as their preferred treatment (we won't), making me wonder yet again why they came to the hospital in the first place if they are decrying the correct treatment as poison. We watched people storm the capital, with the bodies that encouraged them still yet to be held accountable. Certain states have decided that women should have less bodily autonomy than what we would grant to someone that is dead.
Consequently, the survival voices in my head say that I am not safe. I don't think they're wrong. And that means I take continual steps to protect myself and my household. Unvaccinated persons are not welcome in our home, for starters. I will continue to wear a mask. I have stopped accepting handshakes as another small but important change. I try to avoid spaces where there are certainly too many bodies or not enough "space." If the collection has dubious vaccination status, I likely won't go at all, unless I know they are tested with some regularity. I cannot afford emotionally to accidently carry anything to the people I am caring for at the hospital nor can I risk my own health, because I don't tend to get sick small-ly--when I break, I break thoroughly.
Yes, we are all tired of the pandemic, but that doesn't mean we have the luxury of ignoring it. It is a lot like having a chronic illness that way: we can acknowledge that we are exhausted in more ways than we knew were possible in the same breath that we know that does not make it magically go away out of sheer force of will. The way out is through, not forcing the old normal anyway. Again, just like with a chronic illness, there are changes that have to happen to properly accommodate the best kind of life possible. That can (and should) involve a grieving process, but the adaptation stage is required to live one's best forward. Grieve the community that we miss while finding safe ways to connect anyway; grieve for the events we missed out on while looking forward to being able to do them safely in the future, because we took the right steps for longevity now, while simultaneously finding a means to meet yourself halfway. No, it's "not the same," but the world cannot be the same again: the world has continued to turn and it does not go backward.
...I think I also mentioned, though, that there were things that I was grateful for.
Andy and I will be married ten years this year, and, lordy, a great deal has changed in that time. We are both healthier in a few ways and continuing to adapt as we need to. We are both settled in careers now that better fit who we are as people and are both fulfilling and challenging.
And we are thriving. Those career changes both started this year. I have been working for literal years toward the goal of my RN, and I still find it mind-boggling to see the fruits of my efforts. In the same breath, I feel a bit listless, to have completed a goal that has been on the backburner if not the forefront for such a long time. I am still trying to recalibrate my next goal more cleanly, to translate my professional goal of "Learn all the things on the floor!" into something more specific and measurable, to be able to better see my own progress. There will always be more tips to share and gather from my peers; I will always be learning, and that excites me on many, many levels. And at the same time, I need the measurement to help keep myself from feeling discouraged.
Also, yes, that is a Rivian R1T in our picture up there. Yes, it is a fully electric pick-up truck. Yes, we love it. Its name is "Tutti." I know there will be days where I will eat my words here, but I am excited to be able to be the friend that has a pick-up truck when we have friends that need to borrow a pick-up truck for an afternoon. And, yes, Andy is enjoying proselytizing for both our new truck and for Rivian in general. To be in a place financially where it was possible to get one, that was a cool, new thing for us, particularly as I'm out of school and we're back to being DINKs again (dual income, no kids). We get to sort out what that means for us, particularly when we get past the holidays and find what the new normal is going to be.
Truly, Andy has found a place where his passion for new technology, environmental conscientiousness, cars, and helping people all line up in one space. It fits him. Mike has sported a couple new tattoos this year, an act of becoming, too, where there is a certain kind of right-ness, that those images belonged there all along and have now come to fruition. In the midst of all else going on this year, our household was about "becoming," and growing further into who we already were.
And I think that is what I want to continue doing into the next year, embracing more of that "becoming." There are many, many adventures planned in the upcoming years, including trying to sort out how we want to celebrate our ten-year marker. "Becoming" is a process, and it can certainly be an uncomfortable one. Sitting for a tattoo is a painful but varied experience, depending on the placement and design in question; learning the ropes in a company that has started delivering its first vehicles takes now small amount of flexibility; balancing the tension and urgency of the tasks that need done, the requests made in the moment, and the very real danger of certain patient situations takes every kind of mental energy there is to process and enact. There will be stumbles--I have been reframing the small missteps in the "here's what I'm going to do better next time," while also acknowledging that it is still physically impossible for me to be all things to all people, even if it is "only" five patients.
So I walk into the next year, optimistic, once again. I want to continue to grow and see that in the people around me. In the same breath, I will continue to be cautious because we have many reasons to be. Both exist in the same space.
"Becoming" - what a great word. Thank you, dear daughter.
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