I am pretty sure that no one will be saying, “2020 was the best year of my life”. I mean, if they are, good for them. I don’t know exactly what would have occurred that was so magical. Oh, maybe if they escaped the clutches of that bitchy virus, murder hornets, and, well, you get the idea. But, that in itself doesn’t make for the “best year ever”. Sure, your’re a survivor. Bring on the parade.
Do you know what the best thing is about 2020? Oh sure, I finished my book and it is on the journey to be published. (More on that in a different blog.) But, honestly, I celebrate that this year has dumbed down my expectations. I am no longer a prisoner of unrealistic forecasting. I simply wake up and wonder what shit show will be upon us today. My expectations are so far in the toilet that retrieving them is out of the question.
The other amazing thing about this year is that it will eventually end. Plus, I don’t think 2021 will be the year of resolutions. Sure, if you want to be delusional go right ahead. But, I am pretty confident that the majority of the population are simply going to give 2021 a gigantic hug. We will probably experience a bit of PTSD. We don’t want to get too comfortable, so we will ease into the next year with a little relief and a whole lot of trepidation. The shit show may not be just for 2020. I’m just being realistic. See, if I prepare for the worst then I can appreciate when it turns out a whole lot better than I ever imagined. My mind is a terribly creative and bad neighborhood.
Eye on the prize, friends. This traumatic roller coaster ride that we are on has a way to go until it ends. We just need to hold on and try not to get motion sick. I truly believe that when all of this chaos eases, we will all be in a better place or maybe a large comet will just plow into us. Whatever happens, my expectations will be extinct.