I put on pants today. And not just any pants—I put on jeans. Levi’s without stretch. Right out of the dryer. Then I brushed my teeth, walked 6/10ths of a mile to Starbucks, got a coffee, and walked back. It was a goal I set, and I crushed it. 

It's not been a year of high expectations.

At the start of the pandemic, back in March of 2020, I had dreams of keeping a running blog of my experiences in the Corona. I set it up as a daily blog—would write a short post a day—nothing too long, nothing too edited—just a chronicle of my experiences pandemic. I actually managed about three posts per week until mid-August 2020. 

March 20: I have a bad feeling about this.

April 12: Easter Eggs & Jesus Saves

May 6: Whither Work

June 16: It’s all my fault, this 2020

July 1: S.O.S. (Save our Summer)

Aug 12: The day that tried not to be and never should have been

I thought about including excerpts from each blog, but the titles have a narrative enough. And besides, 

meh.

Then I would have to re-read each blog, probably make some changes, for sure correct some typos, copy, paste, reformat…. 

I put on pants—haven’t I put enough effort into today?

***

I have spent considerable time in the last month or so thinking about lessons learned from our pandemic experience. Google “what we have learned from the pandemic” and you’ll get just under 700 million results. Google “what have we learned from Covid-19” and you will get about 3.6 billion results. Other than proving that specific is always more useful than general, I am not quite sure what the difference in those searches tells us. But it seems a lot of us are thinking and writing about this past year.

Since billions of us are looking back on our collective gap year, that must mean we think it is over. And, with anything we no longer have, even if we did not want it to begin with, we kind of want it back. The nostalgia is setting in.

I am going to miss the Corona.

Before everyone starts in on me, I am not saying I will miss Covid. I won’t miss the death, the loss, the joblessness, or the insecurity. 

But I will miss the space and the proximity. The built-in excuses and requirements. The low expectations and boundless fantasies. Like blogging every day.

I won’t bother writing what I have learned from the pandemic—go read one of those 700 million posts. But I am going to reflect on what I’m grieving about it—what I am sad to be losing. There are just about 7 million of those posts--7,000,060.

Or rather, 7,000,061.

I want to keep my projects

I like a project—the bigger the better. Tidy my desk? Okay, I guess. Chuck everything on the floor, reorganize my files, throw away a bunch of clutter, and move the desk to another part of the room? Now you’re talking! The pandemic has allowed me (and everyone) extended project time. Let’s purge: there is always a line at the donation door of Goodwill. And then fill in that space we’ve made with much more useful stuff: building materials and garden plants are as hard to locate now as bleach wipes and toilet paper were a year ago. 

Don’t take my banana bread

Baking is the new black. I like spontaneous baking, meet-me-where-I-am-baking, I’ll-come-over-when-I-am-done-baking baking. Some days, at 3pm or so, I like to shut down my virtual reality life and engage in the real reality of ovens and calories and dirty dishes. I have pretty much memorized the Pioneer Woman’s banana pumpkin bread recipe. Mine has chocolate chips. A lot of chocolate chips. 

What does it mean to bake at this moment in time?

It means I am not on Zoom. It means I am not at work. It means I have free time. It means I am doing something useful, peaceful, and perhaps a bit nourishing. It means I am through with everything I have to do and now on to what I want to do.

What I want to do always has chocolate chips.

I’ll miss being ugly.

At the start of the pandemic, I added bushy eyebrows, overgrown hair, and a full ‘stache to my iPhone memoji. Since professional grooming was out of the question, I leaned into my ugly and made the undesirable facial hair part of my persona. I also gained about 10lbs—sitting around eating tends to do that to you (see banana bread above). And I’ve donned a wardrobe to “accentuate” my new silhouette—t-shirts, sweats, giant sweaters. If I can wear it to bed AND wear it on Zoom the next morning, it’s in full wardrobe rotation. 

I’m in no way claiming that I am normally gorgeous, but going back to normal means going back to trying to look presentable—to grooming and changing clothes. How am I going to get up, bathe, groom, get dressed, eat, and commute 30 minutes each morning before I get to work? Who does that?

Will I have to leave all this in the Corona? Perhaps. I don’t know. I think so. I don’t want to. 

When the spell is broken and the regular person underneath the extraordinary beast emerges, I will be disappointed. The Corona is a beast—brutal, unprecedented, hirsute, and yet so much more compelling and interesting than normal. Our cursed year is not quite gone, and I already want it back.