Dear 2020, Like everyone else on the planet, I can’t wait to see the back of you. But in the midst of sorrow, fear, and loneliness, there were some bright spots. You were the year I stopped wearing a bra, stopped running pointless errands, stopped buying grown-up clothes. Because of you, I never had to worry about getting dressed in the morning in case someone popped up on the doorstep. Drop-ins became a thing of the past but drive-bys turned into my favorite social event. That’s when a friend parks her car on the verge in front of your house, rolls down the window and the two of you shout at each other from safe sides of the fence. It reduces the need for mindless throat-clearing chitchat and ensures warm feelings of mutual goodwill to share brief, heartfelt exchanges like “Life sucks!” and “Fuck Mitch!”. And 2020, you were the year I learned to be grateful to my mailman, UPS driver, grocery delivery people—to stick my head out the door and yell, “Thank you!” as they left—something I probably never did much of before the plague. I’m sure there are other things you did right, but I’m tired of living like a camera-shy Sasquatch (it’s hard to come up with a reason to shave my legs these days). I’m ready for a vaccine, for a dress instead of pajamas, and maybe even a party. A very small party. That is over very quickly. Okay, maybe not a party, just coffee for two. After all, even with a vaccine, I’ll still be an introvert. XOXO Nikki
