Year

Year (noun)
the period of about 3651/4 solar days required for one revolution of the earth around the sun

In looking back on my entry from this same time last year, I wrote the following:

“I know the troubles the planet is going through seems insurmountable right now, but never underestimate the ability of one person or a small group of people, to change the world.”

Scientists now say, it’s very likely that they knew about SARS-CoV-2 as early as last December (a year ago).

As a professional communicator, I want to think that I can come up with something profound to describe 2020. Or that I had some major revelation about the world around me. But the fact remains, that even amongst all of the tragedy, there was still good this year.

And if I could have one wish going into the new year, it’s that we don’t go back to what was before, because it didn’t work. Before was very broken. If we “go back,” the lesson was lost, and people died in vain.

Be safe

Still I Rise
BY MAYA ANGELOU

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

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Normal

normal

Normal (adjective)
conforming to a standard; usual, typical, or expected

I’ve always wondered what normal is and why anyone would want to be it? Normal always sounded so boring to me. And normal as compared to what? Is it what society says is meant to be normal? And at different points in your life there are different normals.

I remember back after I was diagnosed and so, so, so sick. The bargaining started. If only I could be my former self again. I don’t remember ever mentioning being normal.

Since COVID-19 slammed into the U.S. earlier this year, people have been talking about getting back to “normal,” but I think it’s really about stability. Humans are creatures of habit. We crave thinking that we have everything under control, when it’s really the illusion of control. We crave whatever version of normal is our own.

When you’re diagnosed with something like MS, life, which is already uncertain, has a bit more thrown into the mix. And good, bad, or other, the general population is getting a glimpse into what it’s like to live with a disability or our “normal.”

I have extreme heat intolerance, and I don’t mean like “oof it’s hot out.” I mean, if I go outside when the temps get to around 75F with humidity, my brain starts to not work properly. Or if I’m home and the building heat kicks on at 60F, I need the a/c on. So I’m largely indoors from May through September, with odd trips out here and there. My car hire bills for hot weather months might as well be a car payment and insurance.

Had trouble getting food delivered during the pandemic? Think about the elderly and disabled during regular times and compound that by 1,000 during a crisis. People who aren’t able to easily go to a market were frozen out of online delivery for weeks. I watched this unfold on Twitter re: people with cancer, MS, and other acute and chronic illnesses.

The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) passed in 1990, and yet companies are still not held accountable, after 30 years. People with disabilities have been looked over for jobs since the dawn of time, but literally overnight, we shifted to work from home for most of the corporate world, and suddenly, technologically, anything is possible (and in reality always has been). In theory, the “new normal,” should open doors for a lot more people. I only hope it actually does.

If we go back to the way things were, the lesson has been lost.

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