Year in Review: What Even Was That Year? Edition

 Hi team,

I meant to use this time to write this year's Movie Round-Up post, but then I realized that I've gotten into a somewhat consistent routine of writing posts to summarize the recently-closed (or about-to-be-closed) year.  I'm going to take a crack at that instead.

To write such a post for 2020 piqued my interest as a unique challenge, given the year's lack of usual mile markers.  In past years, I've noted vacations, marriages, births and adoptions, graduations, trips to museums, and participation in demonstrations, all of which didn't really happen in my life in the last year.  The major events that did occur in the lives of people I love happened from afar, which is not to diminish the very important fact that some of those things did happen--despite the oppressive drear of 2020, pivotal moments like engagements, births, home purchases, moves, and marriages still took place.  Seemingly impossibly, everyone's lives did not actually come to a complete, screeching halt in that most arduous and trying of years.

As I have in other years, I used the pictures I've taken throughout 2020 to guide my recollections.  Unlike in previous years, there is a striking consistency in the contents of my photos from the last 12 months: they almost exclusively center my child, documenting tiny yet personally profound changes in their appearance, abilities, and interactions with the world around them.  This emphasizes just how much this year has revolved around him, to my joy and honestly to my salvation, when so much else about the world could have easily induced nothing but despair.

And then, in more closely reviewing my documentation of the year, a more complex picture emerges: We started the year with a seemingly endless parade of visits from family and friends who traveled from all over the country to meet our child and to offer their love and help as Husband and I were still negotiating the transition into parenthood.  At the time, I appreciated how precious the opportunity was to introduce our child to the people we love while he was still so little.  Of course, I couldn't have possibly fully appreciated just how precious and heartbreakingly fleeting that window of time ultimately was--I thought we just needed to do our best to exploit the relative freedom of my maternity leave.  When the world shut down two weeks into my return to work, it became clear that circumstances reaching far beyond the considerations of our little corner of the world were going to determine just how long we'd have to wait to present our child to the world again.

Those first few months were utterly crushing.  The isolation, uncertainty, surreality, fear, and deep sense of longing for our loved ones seemed intolerable.  I felt so grateful that, if I had to do my best to survive a plague pent up in my house, I got to do it with Husband, our child, and our small herd of creatures.  Focusing on our child and the small details of our home-become-bunker offered some comfort through an intensive, naturally-occurring mindfulness boot camp I on some level knew I wanted, although certainly not on those dire terms.  Later, talking small forays into our surrounding community on walks and drives mercifully broadened our initially tiny perimeter.

But at heart, human beings are pack animals.  We inherently, desperately need each other to be well and whole.  In late March, I started writing and posting daily conversation-starter questions in an attempt to cut through the bleakness of most social media content and still connect, even if just to hear people's opinions on fonts, foods, and John Mayer.

Then, in the summer, a reprieve: we figured out how to pull off a visit from a family member in above-and-beyond consultation with all the (admittedly confusing and at times lackluster) governmental guidance on how to do such a thing.  That was a critical turning point.  Since that first visit, several have followed--often with long tracts between them, often with a lot of stress, negotiation, and excruciatingly careful planning to make them possible, sometimes with last-minute delays or cancelations--all desperately needed and welcomed when they came to fruition.  

All things considered, we've seen more of our loved ones than seemed even remotely possible in the early days of the pandemic.  I so often have compared what has been possible in the last year with what would have been if things were different, and the grief I feel at all those lost moments of togetherness is overwhelming.  Looking at the year in photos is helpful--in retrospect, the year doesn't seem quite as empty and alone as it so often felt.

In recent posts, I've noted that it feels wholly indecent to give 2020 credit for anything good.  I still say a bitter good riddance to such a pain and suffering-filled year.  But it would be dishonest of me if I didn't acknowledge that I suspect, in the future, there will be an aspect of this year that I'll miss: the single-minded focus on now, on my family, and on all the people I love, on drinking in every precious moment we get together and intentionally, ruthlessly moving heaven and earth to make those moments possible.  When the world comes back, it simply will be harder to achieve that anymore.  I hope we all still can.

{Heart}

Closing 2020 (with Gusto): Resolutions Edition

Good evening friends!

We are about to end what has been the most upheaval-packed, devastating, difficult year in recent memory, and obviously: good riddance.  As is our annual routine, it's time to assess how I did in upholding my resolutions for this year and set intentions for what, in the name of all that is good, will hopefully be a gentler and brighter year.

To further commemorate 2020, this post will be enhanced with some excellent memes lampooning this, the shittiest, shittiest year.  We'll start with one that's also a throwback to last year's theme (and a show so excellent I am yet again rewatching it, after finally having roped Husband into watching it with me):

My 2020 resolutions were:

1. Share precious things with my child.

I'm pretty satisfied with how I've done on this one!  Happily, it's gotten easier and easier to do this as my child has gotten older over the course of this year.  I've gotten to play with them, enjoy music with them (they even ask for music through sign language now!), introduce a range of foods, and carry forward and develop new family traditions with my child as they've become more and more able to communicate enjoyment and curiosity.  

I was able to put into place some of those new traditions in the last month, and I'm really happy to have set a precedent I can hopefully continue as my child grows up.  For example:

Lovely saffron buns inspired by Sweden and Norway's Saint Lucia Day!

Rice porridge for our Tomte so they don't
angrily slaughter our livestock!?

A classic British-style Christmas cake with a recipe
by none other than MARY BERRY.
YES THAT MARY BERRY.

The moment I realized my child's eyesight had developed to the point that they were actually looking at the illustrations of books I read to them is one of the most exhilarating moments of the year.  That said, their emerging manual dexterity has brought with it an ability to destroy books (even--dare I say especially--board books?!), so I am currently instead eagerly amassing a growing library for when reading my child stories does not include delicately yet frantically liberating fragile pages from the iron grip of chubby tiny fingers.  

All that to say: It's so exciting looking forward to the ever more things we'll be able to do together as they grow up.

2. Stay in contact with friends and loved ones.

I'm also pretty happy with my fulfillment of this goal!  God I miss being with all the people I love and enjoy.  It feels thoroughly indecent to give this pandemic credit for anything good, but I will acknowledge that it's forced my hand in staying more actively in touch with people.  The blunt force of profound physical isolation this year and my child's growing autonomy (or at least, their development beyond sleeping on me for most of the day) has at turns driven and facilitated a lot of connecting with friends and loved one this year, and I am so much better off for it.  A clear difference between bad weeks and good ones is that I've spoken with more people I care about during the good ones.  Perhaps one of the (admittedly razor-thin) silver linings of the pandemic is that we've all gotten pretty accustomed to teleconferencing platforms as a standard way of staying in touch with people, bringing us closer together and allowing us to be present in each other's lives even if there are barriers to us being together.

3. Be a mindful, attentive, and curious parent.

Three for three so far: I'm also pleased with how I've handled this goal!  Honestly, mindfully attending to my child has been perhaps the biggest way in which I have mentally and emotionally survived this year.  It helps that my child is the most deeply lovable, sweet, and enjoyable human being, and also that they are ever more able to communicate what they need or want in a way that I understand.  For example, they have gotten really good at cheerfully pointing at a desired thing and saying, "Dat?" which I appreciate as an early form of politely requesting things.  Making them happy and learning what they're interested in is fascinating and wonderful.

That said, I can absolutely work on not getting sucked into my phone--as can we all, I suspect.  I like to teach my clients that mindfulness isn't about perfectly attending, but about gently bringing your mind back to what you'd like to focus on, over and over again.  Thankfully, it's incredibly reinforcing coming back to my child over and over again.

4. Engage in political action.

I definitely could have done better with this one, especially in terms of my consistency.  I went through phases of consuming a lot of antiracist media, contacting elected officials, and a bit of political campaign contributing, but then went through phases where this felt beyond what my energy and depleted emotional strength would allow for.  I know the goal isn't perfection here, but it is to do this in a way that isn't so feast or famine.

5. Watch 52 movies.

Finally, happily: a perhaps alarming degree of success, facilitated both by my previously very sleepy baby and also by the fact that there isn't all that much else to do this year.  This year's year-end round-up will include quite the list!

So again, I am loath to admit anything good coming of the pandemic, but I have to acknowledge the not-coincidence that I've done a better job achieving most of my resolutions this year than in most previous years.  Of the good things that could continue once the pandemic ends, hopefully the ways in which it has forced us to be present, mindful, engaged, and connected will endure.

With that in mind, we can move on to my goals for next year.

Resolutions for 2021

1. Keep developing family traditions and learning about family heritage.

I'm glad the winter holiday season prompted me to take a crack at bun-baking, Tomte-placating, and cake-making, because otherwise I wouldn't have gotten much accomplished in the way of weaving our heritage into our annual rituals.  I would love to do that throughout the year.  In recent years I've also been hoping to successfully build a routine around learning Swedish and, more recently, thereby expose my child to at least some of that language.  My little app makes that so easy!!  I hope I can actually keep that up.

2. Invest in my home.

This ties together a couple of important goals of mine, some of which are particularly developed with an eye toward the post-COVID era.  The main things I'd like to do are: 

--Nesting: We've managed to do some really great work making our new home more and more what we want it to be.  I would like to keep that up in big and small ways, including continuing to decorate (having missed the day in grown-up school where everyone else learned how the hell you frame things??) as well as some bigger projects.

--Supporting local institutions and businesses: I really want to be able to support the museums, cultural institutions, shops, and restaurants I love in the City Where I Live.  This goal also enables me to divest myself as much as possible from Amazon, because Jeff Bezos is the fucking worst and he doesn't need any of our damned money.

--When it's safe, exploring more: We were still relatively recent returnees to City Where I Live when the pandemic struck.  There is so much more to this city that I want to discover, and so much I want to share with my child.  I'm so excited to learn about the ways we can enjoy this city together.

3. Build a practice of sustainable antiracist civic engagement.

As I was thinking about this goal, I asked myself the questions, "What are the things that have been possible for me to do?  How might I evolve and evaluate that?"  My dual goals here are to be both realistic about what I can sustainably do as well as being accountable for actually doing it.

This year, the things I've been able to consistently do are read articles, share information on social media, watch movies dedicated to antiracist topics, contribute (humbly yet thankfully regularly) to some antiracist organizations, and more recently, whenever possible buy gifts for people from Black-owned businesses.  I only contacted elected officials in fits and starts.  In previous years, I've read books and participated in both ongoing and one-off antiracist discussions and learning opportunities.  I'm really gratified by each of those activities.  Some are of course more emotionally difficult than others, but the good thing is that having a range of things I can do means I can titrate according to how my emotional stamina is doing.

The second question led me to the following idea: Maybe as a measure of holding myself accountable, I could share the resources I've found on this blog once a month?  That might mean writing about a movie I've watched, an article I read, a cause that matters, or a business that sells really cool stuff.  I can keep those posts really brief to ensure I actually write them, which marries nicely with my next resolution.  Hopefully this approach means that I sustain antiracist engagement throughout the year.

4. When possible, dedicate time to my interests and hobbies.

There have been admittedly rare moments where I had a little period of time to do whatever I wanted, and I often felt at a total loss for what to do with it.  It reminded me so much of the feeling of coming to the end of graduate school, when I was suddenly confronted with all the interests and passions I'd put on hold while learning to be a psychologist.  Having reflected with a bit of horror on the paralysis of those moments, I remind myself that some of the things I like to do are:

--Reading
--Meditation (including learning more mindfulness and self-compassion practices)
--Learning (including about therapeutic techniques, because being a therapist is just so interesting)

--Writing (which marries quite nicely with resolution #3)
--And obviously, finally:

5. Watch 52 movies.

My happily abundant success on this evergreen resolution this year was in part facilitated by the caveats I put in place last year.  They took the pressure off to always watch something unfamiliar or stick with something even if I didn't like it.  (Funny how lessening the grip of perfectionism empowers us to be ever more successful in achieving our goals, huh?)

I'm also incredibly thrilled that I not only managed to write a post for every month this year (because perfectionism's grip is loosened but by no means nonexistent), but also that I've written more than every other year except for 2018.  I feel so deeply satisfied by that!  I hope I can keep up that level of engagement in this blog in the coming year, as well.

And with that: Again, gtfo 2020, you awful stinkball of a year.

I wish you all a happy, fulfilling, healthy, safe, brave, and love-filled 2021.

{Heart}

....I couldn't help but offer you one more meme that has nothing to do with 2020 but is nevertheless hysterical.  Who couldn't use a little dose of Ron Swanson, anyway?

Happy Belated Thanksgiving! 2020 Edition

 Hey friends,

I've been very much on the fence about whether to write a typical Thanksgiving post this year.  It feels insensitive, in a year filled with so much bleary misery, omnipresent and suffocating fear, and righteous and unrighteous rage, to write a post about gratitude.  Doing so risks invalidating the real and in so many cases insurmountable pain and suffering in this terrible year.

I therefore have to ask myself why I nevertheless choose to write this.  It is perhaps a selfish exercise, in which I lay out neatly and tidily the good things that have been present in my life in the last year.  It is, more constructively, an exercise in being mindfully thankful for the good things that have happened, instead of colluding with the all-or-nothingness of writing off the entirety of the last 12 months as an unadulterated calamity.  It is also a record for posterity, for anyone caring to look back with curiosity over what this year was like, to hear about it with more nuance.  In a way, it's also an exposure, because when goodness and happiness seem so fleeting and fragile, the act of naming them seems like a taunt to the universe to come snatch them away.

And maybe it's that last reason that is the most important reason of all: not simply because facing our fears makes us stronger, but also because it is important to remind ourselves that the goodness in our lives can, and often does, endure, even if we aren't always able to feel it.

When I wrote about "Jojo Rabbit" (2019), I had no idea how goddamned prescient my reaction to that movie was.  As we've moved through the COVID-19 pandemic, I've come back to the final moments of that film often, clinging to the knowledge that humanity has survived this and worse before.  After previous disastrous eras filled with suffering, our abilities to create beauty and joy remained.  Even after a long dormancy, the fundamental, beautiful, resilient, brave, joyful nature of humanity is never extinguished.

• So first and foremost, I am grateful for the future, when there will come a time that this woeful, blighted year feels like a distant memory.  Very likely that memory will still be painful, like a scar that still aches or pulls at the healthy skin around it from time to time.  There is still a long road ahead of us before life will truly be anything resembling "normal" (whether people act like things aren't normal now or not), and there may be a long period of adjusting to being together again without mentally flinching.  But someday, we'll go out into the world again.  We'll take classes and wait for the bus and poke around in stores and see movies and hear live performances, we'll hug and shake hands and sing and cook and carpool and play soccer and sit next to strangers on a park bench or at our favorite restaurants and walk through crowded city centers, and it will someday just be a beautifully unremarkable everyday fact, made ever more beautiful by the reality we've been living through now.  And hopefully, not too long from now, we'll be able to do the work needed to make that future not only "normal" in all the best ways we yearn for it to be normal, but also vastly, meaningfully better than it ever was before--kinder, safer, and fairer for us all.

I am also grateful for:

• My family and friends, especially those who have figured out how to show up and help me still feel loved, connected, and cared for, even though they are often far away.
• Husband, who I've many many times realized I'm so lucky to have as my co-captain in the little lifeboat we're piloting through the crashing waves of this year.
• Our cats, our dog, and our little bird.  These living things that give me so much comfort and keep our home from feeling too quiet or too stiflingly still.
• My child.  How could I have possibly gotten through this year without this gorgeous, bright, sweet little life fully engrossing me?  I really think I might have gone insane without the demands of being my child's parent to ground and steer me.
• City Where We Met.  Through this whole ordeal, even as I can't see most of it, over and over again I have been so desperately grateful to live here.  Just a few days ago, I stood outside behind our home and the beauty of the sky--bright blue with racing wispy clouds blowing high overhead--knocked the wind out of me.  I wanted to kiss the ground.  Thank everything good in the world, I live here.  Just like with my child, I don't know that I could have gotten through this year anywhere else.
• Every person who has courageously striven for a more just and equitable world, often despite real risks to their safety.
• Every person who voted to eject the corrosive, psychopathic President from an office he never deserved and has sullied every moment of his godforsaken administration.
• Abundant movies (and tv shows) that have made this year even remotely bearable.

And, as always:

• You, dear friends who read this blog.

I hope this Thanksgiving was as pleasant as it could be, and that the future holds all the happiness, peace, wholeness, and purpose you need.

{Heart}

A Halloween Sampler for All Souls: 2020 Edition!

 Halloooooooooooooooooooo!

Happy Halloween, dear friends and readers!

In my typical Halloween-y fashion, each of today's films will be accompanied by our usual 1 - 5 rating scale as well as a scary/intense rating of 1 - 5 exclamation points, to be interpreted as follows:

! = not at all scary 

!!!!! = so scary!

I'm excited to share some film suggestions for this spooky season, especially in light of how this year's Halloween will inevitably be curtailed by the pandemic.  It's probably obvious from my now long-running tradition of writing these annual Halloween scary movie round-ups that I love Halloween.  I've therefore been feeling anticipatory sadness for how tomorrow will be different than other years, lacking the pleasure of sharing it with others by going to parties and trick-or-treating as we would in a normal time.  Because of that, it feels even more important to hold onto safer and more possible traditions.

Of course, for me that includes watching a scary movie with Husband while we carve pumpkins, as we plan to do tomorrow.  We're very fortunate that Husband's family grew and personally delivered pumpkins to us for expressly this purpose, and that they've held out long enough to make it until Halloween.

As a new tradition, I learned to make apple cider donuts.  I don't feel safe heading out to the apple orchards where I would normally be able to enjoy some, and I found myself feeling profoundly disappointed that I wouldn't be able to enjoy any for at least another year.  I am delighted to say that this recipe is delicious and, as a result, my endeavor was successful!

I've also taken on the deeply pleasant project of making a costume for my child that matches one I made for myself several years ago.  I can't wait to see my sweet little bun in their costume.

So, without further delay, here are some creepy cinematic creations for your frightened viewing pleasure:

"Room" (2015)

Rating: 5 Scary Rating: !!!!

While perhaps not a conventional scary movie, I can attest that this film is nevertheless terrifying.  I was unable to finish the book on which "Room" is based because it made me feel panicky.  It's also an emotionally rich, psychologically accurate, and ultimately rewarding movie, but the fundamental horror of its premise can't be ignored.

"Coco" (2017)

Rating: 5 Scary Rating: !

For a completely different tone (and holiday), "Coco" is an absolute delight.  Its beautiful, rich, and bright imagery pairs with its sweet music to provide a lovely, moving story to celebrate Día de los Muertos with a gentle but poignant emotional resonance typical of Pixar.  Since I have to start thinking about ways to make our annual jack-o'-lanterns and spooky movies routine child appropriate (ideally without causing nightmares), "Coco" will definitely be on the menu in future years.

"Moon" (2009)

Rating: 4 Scary Rating: !!

This year's scifi entry!  "Moon" is in many ways an enjoyable movie, in large part as a result of its feature-length bottle episode set-up with Sam Rockwell carrying almost the entirety of the movie.  It is also just creepy enough for those of you wanting something in the goldilocks zone of scary movies.

A Note: Kevin Spacey does a voiceover of an appropriately creepy robot (typecasting?).  He has been accused of sexually abusing teenaged boys.  I no longer support his work.  Because his role in "Moon" is minor, my hope is to support Sam Rockwell's excellent performance while still holding in mind that Spacey's predatory behavior is completely unacceptable.

"Parasite" (2019)

Rating: 5 Scary Rating: !!!!

Perhaps "Parasite" is another odd choice for this year's round-up, but I stand by it.  Because it is an excellent, surprising, absorbing, and thought-provoking film examining the hostile, abusive, and fraught relationships between the upper and lower classes, it is also deeply alarming and at times disturbing.  One particular image from this movie still pops into my head periodically and, frankly, really freaks me out.  This shit is dark!

"The Lighthouse" (2019)

Rating: 4 Scary Rating: !!!!!

Speaking of dark!  Brought to you by Robert Eggers, director of "The Witch" (2015), this is probably one of the best movies I never want to see again.  The pains taken to create this moody and simultaneously beautiful, deeply unsettling, and terrifying tale are evident, from the old-timey odd aspect ratio in which it was shot to the script directly informed by lighthouse keepers' diaries and records from the era the film portrayed.  It is such a well-made and fascinating movie.  And yet: the persistent anxious nausea I felt watching it didn't abate for a while after it was over, so I don't know that I need to ever rewatch it.

This concludes the segment of the post that is comprised of movies I haven't written about yet!  To provide some additional options, I would also like to remind you of some films that already have posts written about them, including:

"Unsane" (2018)

Rating: 1 Scary Rating: !!!!

As I have already noted: man I hated this movie.  It is both deeply unpleasant and deeply problematic.  But I have to admit that it also fits the bill for scary movies!

"Under the Skin" (2013)

Rating: 1 Scary Rating: !!!

Yet another movie I unabashedly hated, to the point that I didn't even get beyond the first 30 minutes.  And yet, technically: this is another scifi entry, and is definitely a movie that is scary (and unnecessarily upsetting, so viewer beware).

"Burning" (2018)

Rating: 3 Scary Rating: !!!

While as horror goes I still feel that "Burning" pales in comparison to some other, similar narratives, it is nevertheless an unnerving, interesting, and haunting film that is worth watching.

"The Seventh Seal" (1957)

Rating: 5 Scary Rating: !!

Maybe "The Seventh Seal" isn't overtly scary the way some of the other films listed here are, but its brooding atmosphere and morbid existential themes definitely make it an excellent candidate for this year's throw-back entry.

I hope you all find happy, spooky, fulfilling ways to enjoy this Halloween!

{Heart}

"Manakamana": On Being With People

Hi everyone,

This last month has been a lot.  I am at a point where my brain is feeling overloaded to a point I do not like, and that's of course hard to sit with.  I notice in myself the urge to rush to explain how things will be okay or how this feeling won't last forever, but instead I'm just going to let that reality sit.

The outer world is overwhelming, of course, in many painful and anxiety-inducing ways.  One of the things I've been feeling acutely in recent weeks is the physical absence of people.  The physical isolation of the pandemic is of course difficult for everyone in some fashion and has been for some time, but I somehow reached a critical mass of missing being with people just now.  

So much of what I like about being a psychologist is being with people.  Although I've known that for a long time, it's only relatively recently--since the world turned indefinitely upside-down due to the pandemic--that I've realized how much I specifically like sharing space with people.  I like sitting in a room across from someone, being able to see their face and all of their body language, being able to hear their voice in same room as me instead of through tinny headphones, sharing the same light and the same view out my office window.  I like watching people get comfortable in a space with me.  I like opening my office door and inviting people inside, closing the door behind them to create a safe, cozy, holding space, a small temporary refuge, for them.

(I also miss my office.  SO MUCH.  My office is so cute!  I miss my beautiful deep blue couch, my midcentury modern desk, my admittedly generic therapy art, my surprisingly comfortable Ikea desk chair, my perfect little table for my notepad, my bin of fidgets, my whiteboard and being able to draw on it at people, my thousand lamps because fluorescent light is the devil, and my gauzy Target drapes.  For the first time in my professional life, everything in my office was chosen, not imposed.  I miss my personal, professional space--an extension of me that I feel proud of.)

So it's probably not surprising that I'd like to share the movie "Manakamana" (2014) with you.  It is wonderful.  Instead of holding out on you, I'll just tell you now: I gave this movie a 5.

Paradoxically, there isn't much to this remarkable film.  It is an experimental documentary comprised solely of 11 cable car trips to and from the titular Nepalese Manakamana Temple.  There is no narrative structure other than the gentle cadence of those 11 trips, each punctuated by a brief plunge into darkness, the clank of metal, and the grinding of gears as the car reaches one of its hubs.

"Manakamana" is a deeply meditative film.  You simply watch each cable car-load of living things--mostly people, but sometimes a cat, some goats, or a chicken--sail through the Nepalese countryside.  You watch people have the sorts of idle, drifting conversations that are uniquely possible in transit, interspersed with unexpected music or taking selfies.  

As the movie progresses, you begin to develop an inner sense of when each passage is about to come to a close.  With each plunge into the blackness, a remarkable sense of reincarnation occurs as the cable car emerges with a different set of passengers than those it contained just a moment ago.  This reminded me of a passage from a book about Zen that described all living things as drops of water in a giant river, taking shape as individual droplets as they briefly fall through the waterfall of life, only to become one again with the river at the bottom of the waterfall.  Even as we're all traveling through life, thinking of ourselves as individual little droplets, the river's current draws us along and links us to all other living things.

How lovely to sit peacefully in that cable car, traveling from one place surrounded by people to another place surrounded by people, enjoying a brief respite to look around you at the beautiful mountains, trees, homes, and fields.

How lovely to sit in a room with someone, just for a short time, knowing that the respite of that space is guaranteed and that you will easily return to it again and again because it welcomes you.

I miss the world so much.  I will be so glad to have it back.

{Heart}