2021 was so bad, the best thing that happened to me was after my Covid vaccinations, I got to quit worrying about dying. How do you brag about that in your Annual New Years newsletter to the family members?
My take on it is that we just love round numbers, and cycles, which help us pretend that we understand what's going on, and of course celebrate the idea, mistaken as it may be. The only problem is that when you eventually realize that it's all artificial, you still feel like you've been robbed of something, but--here's the rub--it's something that's not real, so you can't go find it and get it back. That leaves only one option, which is to just move on, and yet you can't, because after December comes January . . . again.
And I might not have thought of this except for Facebook. Facebook loves anniversaries of all sorts and because it has a perfect memory, it is always able to remind you. It’s somebody’s birthday, or you and so-and-so have been friends for a year. Omigawd.
And then this: yesterday, on January 1, 2022, I’m sitting in my living room drinking coffee and perusing the Internet and occasionally looking out the window. It is snowing. It hasn’t piled up yet, but I can see it beginning to cover the blades of grass on the lawn and there are miniature swirling, white drifts across the boards of our deck. I open Facebook on my laptop and see,
“One year ago today. See your memories.”
and my post from January 1, 2021 (“One year ago today.) It is a picture of my deck, taken from that very window, covered with a couple inches of snow, as was the yard below.
I had written, "2021 is quiet so far." And it was. And it is.
I think you said it pretty well over on my blog post when I was complaining about the seemingly obligatory humblebrags, reflection, and resolutions that come up this time of year when I just wasn't in the mood for it. It's just that we humans like to celebrate round numbers, but that's a pretty artificial preference and not really worth getting worked up over.
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