Every Christmas, My Guy and I pick out a special ornament for our tree. It’s typically a Hallmark deal that makes us laugh – like Beaker from The Muppets singing “Ode to Joy” or Darth Vader warning us not to peek before Christmas morning.
Like most things in 2020, our efforts were thwarted … which is a fancy way of saying we never got our shit together. We finally selected an ornament on Dec. 28 as we wandered the picked-over holiday aisles at Target. Our options, while deeply discounted, were limited. Most leftover ornaments were broken or otherwise janky. We settled on a large blue snowflake. On the back, I wrote “2020. Yeah.”
Thanks to a combination of Pandemic Brain and Holiday Brain, I’d totally forgotten about this until we put up the tree this year. It felt about 17 years later but nope, it was just 2021. And when I looked at that inscription, I guffawed. What could possibly be a better response to the year that was? YEAH.
While I have been so foolhardy as to believe I could choose a word of the year at the beginning of January, this year of our Lord 2021 was a rare exception. I now realize that at least for the last two years, retrospective word choices have been much more fitting. And for 2021? The word of the year is WELP.
I mean, really. How else could you possibly describe 2021?
We were blessed to get vaccinated. We got to travel. We were scared. Shit hit the fan. We were exhausted. We were blessed to see family. Being around family might kill us or someone we love. Everything is OK. Everything is terrible.
No wonder I haven’t been writing much. What do you even say?
For 2022, a random word generator tells me that my word of the year is RESTORE. I can’t argue with it. My heart needs to rest, to heal, to scream therapeutically into a pillow. I am cautiously optimistic that 2022 can be a time to restore, repair, reset.
But if not?
I’m guessing the real word of the year will reveal itself in due time. Please JesusAllahBuddhaOprah, may the word of 2022 not be variant, mutation or mucus.