My year started out with a bang.
Literally, when in January an inexperienced driver ran a red light and totaled my car, breaking my husband’s rib in the process.
February began with my husband and I making a rather treacherous drive north for a family emergency, a drive that took nearly three hours longer than it would on clear roads. Five days sitting in a hospital room was followed by three of us family members getting mowed down by a stomach virus.
When the situation for everyone stabilized, eleven days later, we finally headed back home, narrowly missing an axle with wheels—erratically bouncing and rolling as we were doing 75 mph—that had fallen off a trailer ahead of us.
With its satisfying symmetry, shouldn’t 2020 be a lucky year? It’s a rare doubling, and it’s even incredibly easy to say! Contrast “twenty twenty,” for instance, to the year “eight hundred thirty-three.”
Recently, Eustacia, tea and book blogger, commiserated with book review bloggers who took time off for whatever reason but then felt guilty about not posting. Giving them permission to take an anxiety-free break, and acknowledging that she too feels pressure to post constantly, she wondered whether tea bloggers have a similar problem.
Yep, I do at least, because no matter what is going on in my personal life, I still feel a responsibility to my job, to this blog, to maintaining all the stuff that my own ordinary life comprises. And while most people maintain that “work” should be secondary to all else that makes up your world, for many of us, we simply love what we do.
Which means we miss not doing it. And although we may not feel guilty, exactly, about missing work or taking time off, we might feel a vague discontent about it.
Don’t get me wrong. I very much think it’s important to take occasional breaks from whatever we do with our time, whether work or hobby, and I absolutely believe that people come first in our lives—but I also think it’s perfectly normal to miss our normal activity, with its rhythm and structure and satisfaction.
And when our schedules are disrupted by the unforeseen, we might long for our everyday work because work often corresponds to predictability, reliability, the world as it should be rather than upended in ways we don’t like.
In the online world, which is too often filled with vitriol, Eustacia offers perceptive acknowledgment and support of others—offering them a cup of tea in a way.
Whenever we find ourselves or those around us in difficulty, realizing that sometimes we can carry on through anything thrown at us whereas at other times we must step back and rest and recover, a cup of tea—and all that it represents—may help us sort out, a little bit, the upheaval around us.
The year 2020 can be “lucky” for us and for others because we choose to make it so.