And so it began, this time last year. And no, FB, I don’t “enjoy looking back and sharing memories on Facebook,” at least not when it’s this particular one. Though I guess it’s good for us all to take stock, to assess, to honor just how far we’ve traveled in the last eventful year.
Yesterday’s headlines were that the CDC says small groups of vaccinated adults can visit inside, sans masks. The speed of the vaccine trajectory is, quite honestly, spectacular, a testament to the heights humanity can reach (even though here in Spain this was not the headline and they’re still vaccinating those over 80).
The sad corollary, I’m afraid, was how lukewarm I felt, reading those headlines. Well, we’ll see, I thought. The truth is that it’s going to take a while for us to recover, individually and collectively. Along with physical long-COVID, there’s a spiritual long-COVID we’re going to have to manage and heal from. I wonder how the spin-machine that seems to impact so much of life these days will tackle that.
But all the same: this time last year, I could only leave our apartment to buy groceries. This year —thank goodness! — I can rip off my mask once I walk to the park to breathe in that heady vanilla scent, the almond blossoms’ excessive, joyful explosion. And then, on my way home, I spotted a handmade sign someone had hung from their balcony in honor of International Women’s Day.
Seguimos aquí! It was scrawled on pale pink paper, hung from a railing held up by veritable goddesses. We’re still here.
Indeed we are.