What in heaven’s name just happened? What was 2020? How did this all happen? What is going to happen next? My mind spins in confusion. DID THAT REALLY HAPPEN?

Yes, 2020 happened.   I certainly didn’t expect to sit here at the end of it with swirling emotions that range from gratitude to frustration, from confusion to anger at the state of the world. Generally my year-end reflections are positive and up-lifting (I am a glass-half-full kind of girl) but I openly admit even I am struggling with this one. However if anything can exercise these 2020 demons for me, it’s writing.

So, in the spirit of 2020, I am publishing what I call my SFD, or Shitty First Draft. I want to share what’s real and raw for me, no glitz and glamour - not after this year. I went back in my journals to the beginning of 2020 - thought that would be a very fine place to start.   My first journal entry (Jan 1 2020) starts like this:

‘I am staring at this blank page – pit in my stomach.   I reach for another handful of Goldfish snacks and a sip of wine. I am uncomfortable as I write, and yet I sense a niggling that this is a necessary start.   Start to what?   Not sure – just a bumping up in my gut.’

Yesterday (Dec 31) I had to literally force myself to sit still to read for a bit while I waited for dinner (my lovely son was blessedly doing the cooking).  

I keep a journal, and in my journal I frequently write an action for the day: Pleasure Reading. What is “pleasure reading” you may ask?    Pleasure reading is reading for the pure joy of reading something you want to, not have to. Entirely unproductive and yet wholly fulfilling.

 I envision myself curled up with a glass of wine, fireplace roaring, pets lounging as I read a good book. In fact, I started a recent novel, Kate Morton’s The Clockmakers Daughter (which is awesome) so I am motivated to read.  

My conscience pipes up: (Warning: Incoming shitty self talk) “Isn’t there something more valuable for you to be doing right now? No fun or relaxation to be had until you have proven to be productive!”   Proven to who? Myself, my husband, my kids…it doesn’t matter. Childhood memories abound at this point, as a strict Catholic upbringing included major doses of guilt, particularly around enjoying one’s self. A limiting belief rears its ugly head.

Normally I ignore my desires to do something like reading for pleasure, however I have been including this possibility in my list of actions ON THE DAILY for over a year and guess how many times I have done it?   Maybe 10 times…IN A YEAR!  

Another activity on my actions list is frequently: writing. I love to create with the written word, and yet I find it incredibly difficult to commit to it. I take that back; I imagine that I would love to create with the written word – yet I never really get there.  I never really get to the place of being in the flow of writing.  I love it when I read someone else’s amazingly written word, yet it makes me ask myself why don’t I do it more frequently?  As I reach for another handful of Goldfish and a sip of wine, distraction kicks in again…pick up my phone to answer a couple of emails and texts – very important stuff indeed….. bullshit! I call bullshit on myself!

My mind flips to reaching out for help…. who can help me with this dilemma? Absofuckinglutely no one!   This is a Beth job – I KNOW IT and yet I have conditioned myself to believe that if I hire someone they can handle this thing called pleasure reading and writing. Someone else will teach me, coach me, encourage me, set me straight.

I am accustomed to asking for help and I am brilliant at deferring the very thing I need to do…..Beth needs to do the pleasure reading and Beth needs to do the writing. Period Amen.  So let’s pretend I can get my head around my new found revelation–I need to do the pleasure reading and I need to do the writing…..now what??  That thought scares the shit out of me.

As I write that sentence, I realize that I am looking for something to be afraid of.  I am looking for a problem – THE problem so I can focus my attention on it instead of writing…this is where writing comes in handy because as I call bullshit on Beth, there is a gateway to something that resembles an “a-ha”. This is where the magic happens.   This is when ‘creativity’ meets ‘commitment to my spiritual practice’ meets ‘patience that the answers will come’.’  

That was my first journal entry of 2020, and reading it now sends me into a space of appreciation. Why? Because I was complaining about time to engage in pleasure reading and writing, the idea of not allowing myself to do so without having been productive. Well, the Universe and the pandemic certainly took care of that for me, for better or for worse. Plenty of time after mid-March to do both, and the opportunity wasn’t lost on me - I engaged in many bouts of reading and spent loads of time writing. The lockdowns were part of the process for me (while I still acknowledge so many are still struggling).

I discovered that reading and writing are a significant part of who Beth is, and my commitment to myself (via my spiritual practice) is BREATH TO MY SOUL.   I thank the pandemic for the opportunity to sit here at the end of the year in reflection and discover that this year was entirely necessary for my spiritual growth, even with all of its ugliness. I send blessings to those touched by Covid-19, and send blessings to the entire world as we continue to be affected, and hopefully begin to heal.

With all that said, 2020 can go away now, and while I will continue to process any lessons from it, I sure as hell am happy to seeing the back of it.

With immense love, joy, health and happiness in 2021!

Beth