Dear future hubster,
sometimes those great moments of introspection and reflection don't happen on the days arbitrarily chosen for them.
Especially if you just got out of quarantine and had to rush through a working Friday that of course included a meeting until 17:15, preparations for a party that wasn't going to happen, trying to find a balance between not being in a gathering that's conducive for community transmission and not being alone, trying to make not too big a deal of the arbitrarily chosen day of retrospection and still acknowledging it.
Sometimes the slow, peaceful moment of balance, the inventory of what has been and the wondering of what will be happens a day or two later, on an otherwise uneventful Sunday, on the roof watching a dramatic sunset over what is called pretty much the Rocky Mountains in the local language. A moment of grace when it suddenly doesn't feel strange at all that it's 37 degrees on the 2nd of January, that you're sitting next to a giant satellite dish while a colleague is practising My Grandfather's Clock on their ukulele, and you experience anticipatory nostalgia, knowing that you will miss all this once you're gone, and for the rest of your life you're going to be looking back at this moment, this day, this year with the same mixture of feelings, knowing that you're living something unusual but also accepting that it is what it is.
In an elevated moment of clarity, you might even come to the revelation that "unusual but it is what it is" pretty much sums up life.
