(warning: this post is filled with an abundance of hyphenation.)

Hello. So that happened. 2020: The year that felt like setting off somewhere, then realizing one-third of the way through the rum punch you drank at the last party was spiked with a dose of psilocybin and you’re on a road with too many twists, lots of turns, and no streetlights. And your face is melting. And the pink elephant in the middle of the road isn’t moving but you can’t pull over and stop. You just need to get to the other side. (Alternatively, for city dwellers, you’re in every scene from the brilliant After Hours.) Of course, having gotten home and slipped the key in and turned the lock on 2021, it’s not lost on anyone that there will still be much to deal with the morning after. (I’m looking at you Operation What? Speed vaccine rollout. Clown circus convention in DC. Tip your bartender, they’ll be taking the stage all this week and until January 20. After that, a new show will take its place, hopefully with a better sound and messaging system.) And for now, I’m not quite ready to unpack my mental trunk, since I know for a fact there’s a box of belief-in-humanity that got pretty shattered along the way. The faces flying at half-mask (or no mask) telegraphing I-don’t-give-a-shit-about-you-ness, the flags flying at full mast proclaiming I-support-the-assaulter-in-chief or, in my opinion, another way to say I-don’t-give-a-shit-about-you, stunted my I’ll-give-you-the-benefit-of-the-doubt instinct.

Last year did give me a chance to very much crystalize the who’s and what’s I truly care about though. Since I had a lot more time and space (once I’d worked through all the passive-aggressive under-my-breath utterings of “idiot” or managed to silence my inner staged arguments with the half-or-no-maskers I saw around me. Of course, I always won those arguments with brilliant one-liners that like the ghosts in A Christmas Carol managed to bring someone into the light forever. Ah, ego. What a thing you are.) I would say the sense of always just-under-the-surface terror was real for everyone this last year. And when I regularly pushed on that sensation, up would pop a vision of me wearing a cape, a cool belt, a signature jumpsuit, and boots, armed with some sort of laser beam, protecting Dennis, my dad, and myself in whatever way I needed too. Or, concurrently, waving the wand and cutting down to size the person who flat out refused to say that Black lives mattered. Who didn’t play the mental superhero a gazillion or so times in 2020? And how many among us found themselves in a COVID-style nightmare? The one where instead of finding I’d forgotten to wear any clothing from the waist down, I’d forgotten my MASK!!! And so did EVERYONE. And now I would die. (There’s a national survey link tracking dreams here.) Yep. different variations on that theme. Exhausting.

But since no one except the ever-accepting duo of Dennis and my dad were really laying eyes on me, I didn’t need to spend any extra time covering the signs of exhaustion with makeup (what’s that?). Or fancy clothing. Or even clothing that had any structure whatsoever. And this from someone who really adores putting together an outfit. This blog was built with fashion in the title, ferFuxsake. I’m not going to say I strictly wear only clothing with elastic waistbands, although I did get an orange velour tracksuit for Christmas that is so borderline Ali G. that it’s either appalling or awesome, but I will admit that comfort and movement have taken precedent over funky and stand-out as style motivation. And I find that’s not a bad place to be. I’m also happy with a couple of decisions carried over from 2020: That I’ve built up a robust donation rotation for causes I’ve become even more committed to after the awfulness of last year. All who read this will know that Planned Parenthood, The Loveland Foundation, Black Lives Matter, Girls Write Now, Feeding America, Native Land, and Patreon (This Jungian Life) are places I’m supporting monthly. Along with being involved with White People 4 Black Lives weekly.

But fashion, back to that. When I started this blog in June 2019, it was with the sole purpose of focusing on being fashion forward in a planet-conscious way. Back in 2017, I’d read an Ann Patchett article “My Year of No Shopping” and felt inspired. Since then, I’ve been really aware of only supporting labels that can vouch for their eco-awareness (this Good On You site/app is super helpful) and prowling thrift stores, of which there are a surprisingly delightful surplus of in my new neighborhood. And today, this article “It’s Not That Hard to Buy Nothing” caught my eye. I feel a closet-clean-out coming on. And looking forward to it. Lightening up. Not giving away the tracksuit though. And to all of you: may the coming minutes, days, months be filled with moving out the stuff you don’t need—mental, material, or otherwise; finding beauty in the moment—since that’s about all we can count on; and knowing that we are all apparently capable of more strength and love than we may know. I’m keeping my hands on the wheel, my eyes on the road ahead…and maybe no more proverbial rum punch.