Some might call it a humbling…or a year of humiliation. Colloquially, my people would refer to it as an ass kicking. Call the year of 2020 what you may, but the hubbub entering the year was all about vision and clarity. You know, based on the whole 20/20 thing (clever, right?).
I have to admit, I feel like I’m seeing life clearer these days. Maybe I owe all this clear vision to the noggin floggin’ I took over the past two years. Did I fail to mention that 2019 was worse for me than 2020? What can I say? I’m special. It takes me two years to learn what others learn in one.
The revelation came to me while driving across a Covid-addled country on a twenty-eight hour road trip with my family after spending a Covid Christmas with my parents quarantined in their bedroom. Picture snow covered mountains on the horizon and Mad Max style stretches of abandoned desert roads…burned out skeletons of cars representing a world we only dream of in snatches…syphoning gas wherever it can be found…
Okay, perhaps I exaggerate…a little. (But not really.) It’s possible I’ve missed the truth of the matter for this long because I’m a bit of a weirdo. I’m what the French would call la stranger, or étrange. I don’t feast on normalcy as a typical “normie” would. I wear Ugg boots with shorts in the snow. I have “winter sandals” that fit perfect with white athletic socks stretched up to my knees despite the warmth provided by my ever-present “hair pants.” I believe that talking to oneself is a sign of advanced conversational skills. I prefer calisthenics over yoga. I believe high fructose corn syrup is the most diabolical synthetic drug ever created.
Anywho, all this to say the single, dominant guiding force behind our vastly divergent and erratic behaviors as a human race throughout the year of 2020 has been our need for normalcy. I’m sure I sound like Captain Obvious to many of you. Since normalcy has not been something I’ve courted in the past, it’s taken me a bit to warm to her unwily and banal ways.
But I get it now. Whether its a hug from a loved one, or a contemplative morning at your favorite coffee shop, or being able to chest bump a stranger with pretzel crumbs in his beard and beer on his breath, each of us longs for that scrap of normalcy that signals to the rest of our topsy-turvy lives that everything is going to be okey dokey artichokey.
While being a “weirdo,” I’m also a very simple man. My brand of normalcy can be found in a bowl of popcorn and a box of wine while watching an episode of the Simpsons that I’ve already seen twenty-one times.
But guess what? If the grid goes down due to a massive EMP leveled on the world by hominid-hating, insectoid aliens, I’ll find a new normal. Because, well, that’s the thing about normalcy. It’s fleeting. It just might be that what was normal in 2019 ain’t normal no more. And we all have different ideas about what normalcy should look like. To some, she shaves her legs and pits. To others, she’s au naturel.
So, as we enter 2021 blindly groping for a stitch of normalcy, let’s do our best to be understanding of each other and our disparate quests for equilibrium. Those of us who have read the most post-apocalyptic literature can help the others catch up.
At the Desk This Week
As I type these words, my seventy-year-old roof is being ripped off and replaced. I’m hoping work boots don’t break through the old cedar planks and kick me in the head. You know what they say, “New Year, New Roof!”
I know, the excuses are piling up at this point. I’ve been back home for a week, and I’ve yet to start back on the third season of the Green Ones. I’ll get there. I’ll crank the gears back into a rhythm, I promise. The kids are back in school…from home. The bunny is being a bit more social than normal after being left to roam the empty house for a stint. Life is settling into whatever sort of settling is gonna happen. My creative and dreaming life is always last to settle, but I feel it happening. So until next week, thanks for hanging in there with me.
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