What was last year made of? Tremendous challenges, moments of weakness and isolation. Incredible stories of people struggling and those who help others survive. Days that form a timeless chain in which history repeats itself through us who are tied to it.
It was a year full of days that disturbed our pre-covid, scheduled, organized lives. A year full of days that exhausted us and yet brought us happiness in unforeseen ways. A year that I suppose will still hold us in a firm grip even though the numbers have changed.
A year is called a year because we have decided so. It weaves days into weeks and weeks into months. But whatever life these days, weeks, months or years contain, that we keep in our bodies and in our minds. As our nervous system pulsates we go into moments as small as nanoseconds sometimes not noticing them at all.
While we will lose sight of the past year at some point, for now, our hope is placed on the thin line separating it from the new year that has just begun. We count days eagerly as they will help us distance ourselves from despair towards hope. This is the second day of a year full of days yet to come.