One hundred seventy-eight days.
That’s how far we are into 2020. And 178 days ago, I never could’ve imagined where we’d be today.
I never could’ve imagined this would be the year I finally return to Ireland with my best friends after 20 years – only to be virtually home-bound for the next several months.
It’s been over three months since we started quarantining – 103 days, to be exact.
This year has been scary and surreal, tragic and terrifying, unprecedented and (seemingly) unending. In my writing, I’m used to trying to find the light amid the darkness. Admittedly, 2020 is making it very difficult to do that – there is no silver lining when people are dying, when no one seems to know quite what the future holds.
And so, 178 days later, all I can do is focus on the here and now. All I can do is be grateful for the moments of joy amid the sorrow, the light amid the darkness.
I can appreciate the fact that, even though quarantining can be quite isolating sometimes, I am very fortunate to be able to work from home since my son and I both have chronic health conditions.
I can hug my kids tighter, thankful they are all healthy and safe under one roof.
I can be grateful for technology – yes, it can be frustrating, but there’s a certain magic to Skyping in Grandma and Grandpa to sing happy birthday to a kiddo with a quarantine birthday.
I can be thankful that I am on the verge of having a dream come true – my debut novel will be out in the world in less than a year.
I can be grateful for today, and hopeful for tomorrow. I can pray for better days ahead, 178 days from now and beyond.