Early in 2021, I truly believed that the worst was behind us. A couple of people close to us had died, and more would (though all but one were quite elderly, and none died of COVID). Trump had slithered back under his gilded rock. Amazing scientific advances had produced a new and effective class of vaccines, and, if nothing else, we know how to produce something in vast quantities. Gina and I even got our shots months ahead of when we first estimated we could (thanks, Northwestern U!). I thought the Summer of ’21 would be magical, our own TA 3020.
And then came the pandemic of stupidity, and it all went to hell. Nothing good came back. Things went farther downhill. If anything, 2021, because it embodied dashed hopes, was worse than 2020. The one shining exception was the magical trip to England and France that we took (arriving in Europe just before they re-banned American travelers!) with a couple of dear friends.
And now comes 2022. In my small circle, things are still mostly quite good. A LOT of people we know have had The Omicron over the last year, but all were fully vaccinated and were fine. One, not yet boosted, got pretty ill for a couple of days but never needed to be hospitalized and shook it completely in less than two weeks. Mountain bike races are being scheduled again, which brings me great joy. I’ve purged most of the right-wing morons I used to know from my awareness. Since March of ’21 I’ve lost most of the weight I wanted to lose, with minimal backsliding during the always problematic winter months. Looking around, it seems that ’22 might be the ’21 we had hoped for. And yet….
Maybe it’s just my natural tendency to catastrophize, my old strategy of holding on to my armor, of never getting my hopes up so they can’t be dashed. I’ve never been much of an optimist, but I cannot shake the feeling that more shoes are plummeting towards our heads as we speak.
A hyper-annuated wannabee scientist with a lovely wife and a mountain biking problem.