Riding the Wave, 48. Here's to Hope

The year ends tonight. There is a palpable relief in the air, with the knowledge that the coming 2021 will be much better than the outgoing 2020, which, like a meme I recently used, seems written by Stephen King, and directed by Quentin Tarantino. 

But will next year be so much better? It will definitely begin badly, at least in regards to the pandemic. In our little corner of the world, I have the feeling we will be isolated within our townships until well into the spring. It will be another lost spring. Already, Seville has cancelled its Feria de Abril, as well as its Holy Week processions. The concert we were going to go to last June was moved to this coming March. I have a sneaking suspicion that it will be pushed forward into the next winter, if not outright cancelled.

This year was supposed to be a hallmark year. Twenty years already into the new century. Yes, there were the usual problems; the death knell of democracy in the U.S., the gradual dismemberment of the E.U. beginning with Brexit, the rise of far-right politics everywhere, and global warming that threatens every living being on the planet. But then a tiny virus kicked in, and everything turned further on its head.

We managed to attend a concert in January in an enclosed space in Santiago (Viva Suecia, a very good Spanish indie rock group.). The news of an unknown epidemic in far-off China in late January had nothing to do with us. We had hopes for the summer. We even managed to go to the Women's Day march in Santiago, amid rising hysteria in Europe. And then we were locked into our homes. 

At first, the lockdown, in its strangeness and newness, was even fun. Everyone was uploading videos of how they were taking it in stride, getting exercise within four walls, learning to cook, and becoming amateur film directors. But, when the first two weeks turned into four, and the numbers of dead started to rise vertiginously, things began to get a bit somber. The weeks stretched on, similar in their monotony. The funny videos became fewer and fewer, until they were a mere trickle. Nerves flashed. When the lockdown began to be lifted, and people could go out to exercise, everyone went berserk. People who had never looked a running shoe in the eye suddenly pumped away down the street, lungs bursting after the first sprint. 

The song of the spring, Resistiré, was a beacon of hope that no one wanted to even remotely hear in an echo after we were finally let out in mid-May. Clapping the health workers every evening also paled after a time. People wanted to leave the pandemic behind. It was fun at the beginning, but by now it had become a millstone, interfering with our lives. But it was still there, and we were obliged to wear masks when outside the home. Summer, with its warm temperatures, made the mask a torture. 

With very few cases, people began living again, even though most activities were cancelled. But those who still had a job and a paid vacation, went on their trips. If not as many went abroad, quite a few travelled within Spain. However, missing all those foreigners, many touristy locales were quiet with only the nationals. I even managed a one-day trip to Puebla de Sanabria at the end of June, and we went to a family First Communion celebration in July. But by August, the numbers were going again in the wrong direction. 

With fall, schools opened, and life fell into a certain routine, which started to be interrupted in late October and November, when rising numbers of contagion caused several townships to be shut down. A curfew was declared until spring. December has turned into a ravage of contagion, and the Christmas holidays promise a third wave of illness and death.    

And everything else continued as usual. An impeachment didn't work in the U.S. The election results were more or less as expected; Biden won, and Trump threw a tantrum. Britain has finally made a twelfth hour agreement with the E.U. over Brexit. The planet, after a parenthesis while most of the industrialized world was shut down, continues warming at an alarming rate. Idiots who want to take us all back to the Middle Ages, one way or another, abound. 

What we also learned this year was that the human soul is capable of great suffering and great giving. People looked after those they knew were alone and vulnerable to the virus, volunteering their time to do necessary shopping. Doctors and nurses who held the hands of those who were dying, and allowed them to talk to their loved ones through phones and tablets. Others, who made sure the elderly who lived alone, and children who didn't understand, could have birthdays fêted by all the neighbors from their windows. Or those, who simply showed their humanity by helping others who needed help. That spirit has been diluted in this second wave, but it's still there. There are those still giving of themselves to make this pandemic a little easier to bear.

The year winds down to its last hours. The beginning of the next won't be easy. But, hopefully, toward the last half, it will be better. Maybe the pandemic will be batted down, maybe we will become more tolerant of others, maybe we will learn we need to work together to leave a habitable planet. Or maybe we won't, but we will try. May the New Year bring the glimmer of hope.

Life continues.