We are now 11 months into this pandemic’s direct impact on our daily life. I told my 11-year-old the other day that we are “living history” right now. Some day, entire textbooks and documentaries will be produced about the year 2020 and beyond. I compared it to how World Wars I and II stretched on for years, with no particular end in sight at the time.
As if “living history” is supposed to be some sort of consolation for the havoc this pandemic has wreaked on our lives.
I have had a huge sense of relief since January 20th, 2021. I felt like I let go of a breath that I have been holding for four years.
I made my two older kids watch the inauguration with me. Any politics aside, there was no denying the significance of the day. I cried buckets as I watched Kamala Harris, the first woman – and also a woman of color – be sworn in was an emotional moment. As she said in her speech when the results of the November election became clear, “I am the first woman to hold this office, but I will not be the last.”
Wednesday, January 6th, started as an ordinary day. Actually, it started a bit better. I hadn’t slept much, staying up far too late watching the results of the Georgia Senate runoff races. But I was running full steam ahead on adrenaline.