I spent the last decade fully bought into the self development world and dabbling in spirituality, mindfulness, and now neuroscience. I am the one with the growth mindset, the perspective, the flowery words and the lilting, leading tone to make you believe in something within as well as something bigger than you. I still believe it. Ish.
“Pandemic,” as my friends are now referring to it, has added an edge to my grace, a darkness to my dry humor, and heart palpitations for added measure. This was the year my startup was to find investors. The year my weird little blended family was going to click into place. This was the year that all the manifesting I did was going to bloom and show itself.
Instead I write this in the robe I slept in and next to an unlit Christmas tree I put up way too early in the hopes I could usher in the spirit of joy. My toxic positivity was going to save us with peppermint-spiked everything and The Grinch and Home Alone on repeat. I jingle jangled all over the living room almost exactly a week before my boyfriend’s daughter showed her first mild signs of COVID. By the time my boyfriend was knocked out on the couch, feverish and covered with a blanket like Jesus in the shroud of Turin, I knew we were in trouble.