by Claire Taylor

How does it feel to hit a stop sign with your car? It feels exactly like 2020. Trust me.

How have you coped? I dyed my hair purple, and then pink, then purple again and settled on blonde. I walked in circles, ovals, and triangles pretending that the disintegrated gravel street I grew up on was the cobblestone, castles and green hills of Scotland. I tried to finally master remembering my left from my right, but I still turn left when the GPS shouts “right!”

It’s been ten months of these habits pressing into my skin. 2020 is a case study into bread crumbs holding together broken glass, where one rots in pajamas and pushes a thermometer under the tongue twice a day. So here is an ode to the terrifying sense of falling when you’re half asleep, the coffee spilt all over your laptop, and the screech of chalk against the chalkboard which all represent 2020 and its breadth of lessons.

Admire the cat that relaxes outside your window. Mimic the way it falls into itself, rests without fear, and observes in your own daily life.

Approach everything with caution. Yards, doors, strangers, ideas. There might be a literal or metaphorical dog ready to bite you in the butt.

Find your breath and set an intention. Discover, in through your nose and out through your mouth, how your body is entwined on a yoga mat. Marvel at the miracle that your feet agree to bring you anywhere you demand. Stretch out your sore back, sore thoughts, and sore feelings.

Feed the ducks in the river with leftover homemade scones. Every last bit is precious, food, energy, care, time.

Parents are people, too. As we grow, we realize how fragile we all are, including the people who used to be genius superheroes who scooped us into their arms every time we cried because of a scraped knee. Forgive them.

Surrender yourself to vulnerability. Whether someone is two or ninety-eight, everyone is learning and coping, and admitting that you are stuck in a puddle helps the next person get out of their mud.

Praise the sun, feel its warmth, and store it for the cold, dark winter days. Plunge into the Atlantic Ocean or North Sea even if the air feels frigid. Somehow it’s easier that way, and you’ll feel grateful for the way your heart races as you run out shivering.

Most importantly, pour your heart out like I just did. Somehow, everything feels distant on paper in permanent marker instead of in your chest. I don’t quite get it either. But holding your breath and blinking the water from your eyes while you admit to yourself and to the paper what you have lost, gained, and discovered is the best part.