Year of living dangerously

A year ago today, our VP came round the office and quietly told individuals and small clusters of people that, due to the COVID-19 pandemic, we’d be working from home for a few weeks starting the next day. From that day to this, I have not seen one of my colleagues outside of video meetings.

In the intervening period, we’ve launched a new software platform, fought off cyber attacks, undergone a couple of reorganizations and various other things. Teammates have recovered from COVID and lost family members to it; they had to make the announcements via calls and power through with only virtual hugs. They’ve had babies in the middle of a pandemic and “returned” (to their home offices) from maternity/paternity leave. One colleague barely scooted back to his post in Belgium before Europe locked down in March; seriously, he got a client escort from the airport to his home and stayed there for the next two weeks.

We’ve all got used to dogs, kids, delivery people, plumbers and other assorted extras being part of virtual meetings. And some of the not-on-mute surprises have been funny enough to keep us laughing through some of the ghastliest times. (I’m thinking in particular of the outside-agency woman helping with the launch, who admonished—well, I’m thinking it was her son; I hope it wasn’t her husband—“No, do not touch your penis after holding a jalapeño pepper!” Kudos for using “penis” and not a euphemism.)

We refer to the past as “the Before Times” and try to imagine what “the After Times” might look like. Time itself has become unmeasurable. We say, “At Wednesday’s call…well, maybe it was Monday’s…wait—what day is today?” because it all blends and blurs together. We have no more natural barriers. (I myself have worn neither a watch nor mascara since 12 March 2020. Time no longer has meaning and no one sees me because I never turn my camera on.)

As a nation, we all endured the douchebaggery of the elections and the surreal aftermath, peaking with the insurrection at the US Capitol on 6 January. That’s not over, yet, but we have some hope with the Senate’s confirmation of Merrick Garland as Attorney General. (Thanks, Stacey Abrams!) We took to the streets (masked and distanced) to protest the killings of Black people; and (not-masked and not-distanced but armed to the teeth) to support tyranny and White supremacy. Millions of people lost their jobs, their businesses, their homes, while Republicans calculated ways to sluice billions to their corporate donors. We the People voted—in person and by mail—in record numbers, and we tossed the bastard out. But there are more than half a million empty seats at tables around the country and our loss is immeasurable.

We now—finally—have a national policy to fight the virus, and maybe in the next twelve months we can finally have lunch with friends, give and receive hugs, and drop into an optician’s office without making an appointment.

It’s been a very long, very hard year. Stay safe. Vaccinate. Wear your damned mask. I do not want to repeat this.