2022 was a year of small endings.
The end of gathering restrictions after a long two years of restrictions that ping ponged back and forth between sheltering in place, working from home, social distancing, and limiting social activities to your bubble.
The end of travel restrictions, which allowed me to travel to places like the Sunshine Coast, Seattle, Montreal, Ottawa, San Francisco, Pemberton, Harrison Hot Springs, Lake Country, Chicago, Peterborough, Denver, and now San Francisco again to ring in the new year.
The end of my secret, lifelong hate of unrealistic rom com plot lines (because I previously just could not relate to the romanticization of the incredible highs and lows, but now I have a quiet empathy for them).
The end of me ever taking for granted the beauty of a non-pandemic world.
The end of the big firsts without my Mom: First birthdays, first Mother’s Days, first Thanksgivings, and first Christmases. I don’t know if these things will ever not gut me, but I have to imagine that the firsts and seconds will be the worst ones and it gets better from here.
The end of my previous ways of thinking that there will always be more time to spend with those I love, and that friends who are in pain and need help will tell you they’re in pain and will ask you for help.
The end of thinking about how wonderful anyone is and not telling them because I assume they know how incredible they are.
Being on the other side of a pandemic that’s gradually receding like a low tide to reveal what has always been there and also what will never be the same again is a privilege that not all of us got to experience. A lot of things may have ended this year, but being aware of that is not one of them.
So if 2022 was a year of endings, then who knows what 2023 will be. See you on the other side of it, friends.
2022
