A Matter of Time

I normally look forward to the nostalgia of “the year that was,” but 2020 was just not that kind of year for me. When the replays started early on New Year’s Eve, I decided that I wasn’t ready to relive the trauma all over again. It was much too soon; the pain was still too fresh. My spirit was unwilling to engage. Instead, I found a playlist on YouTube with 195 songs from the 1970’s through the 1990’s. I fired up my white sage, and I started cleaning my house. And I smiled, and I sang, and I danced.

Each song was a memory, a journey through a part of my life, a recollection of people and places and events. I recognized how music influenced my younger self, and I wondered whether I would have made different choices with a revised soundtrack. And still I danced. I welcomed 2021 with my second glass of champagne and I listened as my neighborhood exploded with fireworks and gunfire. And for the first time in a very long time, it actually felt celebratory.

When I looked outside, the Moon was so bright that She illuminated the mist and fog from the day’s rainy weather, making the world glow in a peaceful blanket of light. And while I’m sure I must have seen this effect before, I am equally sure that I’ve never seen anything quite like it. New light, new year, new life. I made it to song 43 on the playlist before succumbing to sleep shortly after midnight.

On January 1st, I watched as heavy rains washed the earth and the winds swept the air, and it seemed appropriate somehow that the year be