Dear 2021,

I am writing to you just moments before actually getting to meet you. It is a rainy late afternoon, and outside my window the tree’s scrawny arms are tangled up against the pale gray sky, a brittle winter ballroom. This view will shift over the next months as new leaves come in and the sky turns bright. But I am jumping ahead. I love the gnarly chill and the near-full moon that will appear tonight.

The reason I am writing to you, 2021, is that I want to assure you that I am not simply discarding your predecessor. I am not pretending 2020 can or should be erased, forgotten, denied, or diminished. It was a year full of life. Dynamics and divisions that many of us were once able to keep buried beneath the surface of the everyday seeped or erupted into our consciousness in 2020. Life would not be silenced. Life could no longer be molded for the convenience of the few. It was a year full of life. 

And, yes, there are many layers of grief. Still, I want you to know that I realize that one aspect of our grieving is connected to a loss of innocence. It is so much easier to look away, to stay vague and uncommitted, to remain innocent. When we wish, pray, hope to go back to the way it was, returning to the so-called “normal,” what are we really saying? 

I want you to know, 2021, I am thinking about these things. How much of my abundance is predicated up someone else’s lack? What can I do with the privilege that comes to me free of charge? How can I inhabit this planet with more respect and love? What have I taken for granted? Whom have I treated unkindly simply in not questioning the source and impact of my conveniences? 

Dear 2021, I want you to know that I am entering through your gates with eyes more open, my blindfold in my pocket, the last year ended but not complete. I will walk through your gates continuing to be informed by 2020, neither expelling it from memory nor succumbing to negativity. It is a transformative moment, not because the gods tell me so, but because inch by inch, breath by breath, we can make it so.

The trees have now disappeared into this good night, and the moon must be somewhere behind that delicate smear of clouds. In a few hours, I will welcome you as you welcome me. Together, we will make real the dreams of equity, climate care, mutual respect, and intrinsic belonging. I do not expect these things as gifts from you. I carry 2020 with me to remind me that I must demand them of myself as gifts to you.

With respect,

Suzi