I’m sitting at my desk writing this post knowing that in a few minutes I need to go ahead and clear everything off the top of said desk and pull everything out of my drawers. By the time you’re reading this, I imagine I’ll have already done so.
Earlier today, Matt and I got the keys to our new apartment: sixth floor of a building right downtown. We already love it. Tomorrow, movers come to handle all the biggest furniture that we don’t want to deal with. We’ve spent much of the day today getting smaller boxes over, and have only stopped because the Governor’s new stay-at-home order went into effect at 10 PM and we’re a pair of law-abiding Democrats.
It’s weird moving during a pandemic. It’s weird moving around the corner (if there weren’t other buildings in the way we’d be able to see the new place from the old place and vice versa). It’s weird taking your whole life apart just to load it into boxes and put it back together again in a new space. It’s weird sitting down to write my blog again for the first time since… June? June, I think.
Of course, I’ve tried sitting down to write other posts a lot of times. I tried writing something when George Floyd was shot. My friend Trent and I went to the viewing in Raeford, and I felt like I needed to say something, but I could never actually get anything written. Nothing I have to say as a white man about what happened to George Floyd or in the aftermath of his death will add anything new to the conversation.
I tried writing another blog post, still sitting in my drafts. All it says is: “I have to confess, I’m not sure if America can make it to November at this rate”. I suppose I was wrong, but… well, our democracy is still undergoing a hell of a stress test. The Supreme Court has rejected the Texas case, and now Republicans are threatening secession, and G-d alone knows what Donald Trump will try between now and January 20th. A little over a month away. It felt like we’d never get here. It feels weird that it’s almost here.
2020 has been the year of “it feels weird”. Everything about it has. It’s been hard, but there are things I’m nonetheless grateful for. As of September, my husband is working again after being unemployed since February. The pandemic has created an interest opportunity to grow much closer to some of my friends who don’t necessarily live very close by — it doesn’t matter if you’re across the state or country from each other when everybody has to Zoom (or, in our case, Discord). I took November to write a book; I had another blog post going about that, but the blog posts didn’t go anywhere. I might revisit it after I settle into editing said book (it’s just a first draft right now) later this month.
And, as mentioned, we’re moving this weekend, and as weird as moving is, we’re really excited about this new apartment. It’s a little more expensive, but well within what we can afford, and we’ll finally have a dishwasher, finally have a bathtub big enough to take a bath in, finally have our own washer and dryer instead of sharing one of each with a whole building. We’ve been looking at bookcases and things, planning out how we’ll turn the dining area into sort of a modern café theme. As bad as things are in the world and the country, on a personal level, right now, things are good. And it’s important to remember that and remain hopeful. Not everyone is so lucky.
It feels like maybe the world’s luck is starting to turn though. Flawed and imperfect though he will be, Joe Biden is a little over a month from being sworn in. The FDA approved Pfizer’s vaccine today. And it’s Hanukkah. Happy Hanukkah. It’s a time for rededicating ourselves, for finding the light in the darkness, for miracles. Maybe ours is on its way.