It's all my fault, this 2020
On August 31, 1997 I woke up with a start: someone is going to die today. I knew it was someone famous, really famous, not someone close to me. I knew it was someone whose death would shock and startle the world. It wasn’t a movie star—not big enough. Not a political leader—no one would care enough. Whoever was doing to die was a person of global influence and presence that went beyond political and cultural boundaries. The sense of awe and foreboding was powerful—it felt like it had already happened, but I couldn’t figure out who had that kind of presence in the world, so I let it go.
It was Princess Diana.
That evening, watching the news, I was mesmerized. Now I knew whose death had been set in motion with such force that, half-way around the world in upstate New York, I felt it. Part of me wasn’t sure if I had actually woke up with the feeling or if I was just experiencing a kind of deja vu brought on by disbelief—like my mind was rejecting and accepting what was happening like a revolving door about to fly off its hinges, frantically taking the awareness in and kicking it out again.
You don’t have to believe me; I’m not applying for Professor Trelawney, but it happened. I anticipate and project events all the time. Warnings pop into my head—sometimes I listen and sometimes I just hear those sounding footfalls walk on by.
In December of 2019, I made a vision box. Not a vision board, but a box, decorated with goals and plans for 2020 but open to more (box with open space inside, get it?) I put some things inside it to get me started and, well, they were the wrong things.
Sorry.
I opened up my 2020 vision box the other day and discovered I’d started the year with 2 intentions: money and survival. I’d put 2 $20 bills in the box because I thought planting money in a vision box would help attract more money. It just made sense to choose $20 & $20. You don’t have to believe me, but it didn’t even occur to me that two $20 bills equalled 2020. But it must have been somewhere in my mind when I put them in—that’s why it made sense: I agreed with me.
The Girl Scout “Survival Skills” patch is another story. I threw that in the box because I really didn’t know what to do with it—well, them, two patches—one for me and one for my daughter. We are past sewing them onto her vest, but I can’t throw them out, and I have no idea where the Ziploc with all these patches resides right now. So, rather than look for it, I threw them in my box and unintentionally made 2020 a year we’d have to survive alone and together. I made sure to bring skill—mad crazy survival skill—to 2020 to get through. The kinds of survival skills you only get in Girl Scouts—finding direction, burning stuff, and wielding knives (in order to cut the 27 loaves of banana bread I made).
I can’t say 2020 became $20$20 for putting in my box, but, hey, that $40 is still there. And it’s June. So I must not be that desperate. But, in the corona, the need for and ability to survive sure became real. As we approach the summer solstice—the fulcrum? center point? hinge?—of 2020, I aim to pivot this year. I am going to add some new things to my box.
A dictionary to find some new words to talk about and to each other in this world.
A candle to touch to the heat of 2020 and carry it with me.
A small mirror to take a good look at myself.
Projecting something better into the rest of 2020 is all up to me. By which I mean, it’s all up to you. In other words, it’s all up to us.
