Farewell, 2020

Some fragmented thoughts on grief and gratitude at the end of one very long trip around the sun

The 211th Day after Coronatide*
New Year’s Eve

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, dear reader! What has this year been? 

I’m seeing lots of end-of-year social-media posts that say, “We made it!” While I get the sentiment, I’m not totally feeling it either. Not to be all fact-checky about things, but the reality of 2020 is that many people didn’t make it. Pancreatic cancer killed Ruth Bader Ginsburg and John Lewis. Thanks to the one-two punch of COVID-19 and the uniquely American inability to deal, nearly 350,000 people have died from the disease in this country. 2020’s list of cataclysm is so long that I wonder how 365 days could hold so much grief: A massive explosion in Lebanon; the enduring stain of racism in the U.S.; ongoing crises in Burma, Venezuela, and Syria; a plague of locusts in East Africa; war in Yemen and Ethiopia; wildfire in California and Australia. 

Yes, some of us made it. But this year has taken a devastating toll even on many who are still living and breathing, and as much as I hate to disagree publicly with the philosophical giant who is Kelly Clarkson, it’s just not true that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Many things might not take your life but the vast majority of us are certainly better off without them, including aspartame, unrealistic expectations, public worship gatherings as political performance, Mitch McConnell as Senate Majority Leader, and various members of the herpesviridae family. 

Last January, I saw a video clip of kangaroos desperately trying to flee the flames of a massive Australian bushfire. I grieved the fire’s brutal onslaught and cheered the beautiful creatures on. I want to know what happened to them. Or maybe I don’t, because I want to believe they all survived—and I know that the story beyond the frame doesn’t have the ending I want.

Truth is, I’m not sure how to find the right balance between struggling with what’s wrong and honoring what’s right, mourning death and celebrating birth. How do we faithfully acknowledge the fullness of reality—incalculable grief and enduring joy as well as gratitude both for what we’ve lost and for what we still have? 

Each of us struggles in our own way to find that equilibrium. The thing that I want to resist is toxic positivity, that relentless fixation on the sun when you’re standing in the midst of a rainstorm. To be human is to hold both the happy and the sad, the good and the bad. I know that, amidst difficulty, appreciating what’s good in the world can be the ballast I need to keep me steady. To recognize what’s beautiful, to express thanksgiving—this can be our defiance against despair and our investment in hope, but it’s only healthy if we don’t pretend that things are better than they actually are.

Atop the bookshelf in my study, there’s a stuffed Eeyore that has traveled with me for many years, and somewhere in a box in my basement, there’s a stuffed Tigger that someone gave me as a subtle reprimand. Tigger needs Eeyore. The more difficult thing for me to acknowledge is that Eeyore needs Tigger—and maybe I ought to go rescue that silly tiger from his subterranean exile. 

Early in 2020, my income withered and my fears blossomed, some friendships faltered and prospects for my ordination dimmed. We moved to a new city in a new state just weeks before lockdown. We told ourselves Grand Rapids was just a short nonstop flight from New York, never expecting that we wouldn’t take that flight even once. We’ve been unable to travel, and given that much of my living is made as a travel writer, that has been... inconvenient. 

I say “inconvenient” because, well, we made it? For melancholy types like me, perhaps gratitude and joy need to be the focal points of my discipline. (For you sunny-side-up types, perhaps lament and grief are where the growth must happen.) So here are twenty things I’m thankful for as I reflect on 2020—no particular order, except for No. 1. Please share some of what you’re thankful for; send me a note or leave a comment below. I’d love to hear your reflections too! 

1. Fozzie
Our old, deaf, thyroid-impaired dog has delighted us since joining our household in April. We’re not thrilled about the money we’re pumping into the local economy via his vet bills, and we sometimes question how much he likes being with us, except as providers of belly scratches and treats. But most of the time, we’re really glad Fozzie came to stay with us and that, in his own strange way, he constantly summons us back to the present. Thank God for weird dogs.

2. Pizza
This was the year I learned to make decent pizza dough, thanks to Joe Beddia of Pizzeria Beddia in Philadelphia. His cookbook, Pizza Camp, is outstanding. We use a Lodge cast-iron pan to bake the pizza, and switching to 00 flour has made all the difference. Thank God for new skills.

3. The Fulton Street Farmers’ Market
I don’t know why I find it comforting to know that farmers’ markets have been around since long before hipsters decided they liked Instagram-worthy heirloom kale that’s been hand-nursed, named, and artisanally harvested by other hipsters. Our local market has been running since 1922. Every Saturday, we see what the jolly mushroom man has, and we visit Farmer Bob, with his handwritten signs on old cardboard. In the spring, we ate asparagus until we were sick of it and it was out of season. We revel in the blue eggs that sell for $3 a dozen. Thank God for the people who keep us fed.

4. Bok choy
One reason I call myself a make-believe farmer is because of the aforementioned farmers who do the real labor. I’m just a gardener; nobody depends on what I grow for sustenance. Which is fortunate, because so many of my crops fail. (Zucchini? Yellow squash? Spinach? Where did you go?) My star this year: bok choy. So much bok choy! Even past the first and second frost, it kept offering up its crisp-tender leaves, and I have to say, I felt no small amount of satisfaction that a Chinese vegetable thrived best in my garden.Thank God for foods that keep us tethered to our heritage.

5. Beans
Some of the beans I grew this year came from my friend Barbara, who sent seeds from her farm in Georgia. Others were saved and handed down, generation after generation, by resilient Potawatomi stewards; I planted them to remember one of the peoples who long farmed this land. I love that there was no hurrying the beans. They quietly insisted that I wait for them to dry. Growing them offered not just a reward for patience but also the joy of connection. Thank God for foods that tie us to others.

6. Michigan summer
If this one was anomalous, please don’t tell us. We relished sitting on the front porch, sipping wine as the sun painted the sky the color of our rosé before sinking out of sight. Thank God for warm days and cool nights.

7. Michigan’s parks
P.J. Hoffmaster, Saugatuck Dunes, Sleeping Bear Dunes, Aman, Huff—we’ve loved hiking the varied and beautiful landscapes of our new city and state. Thank God for gorgeous wild(ish) places and safe green spaces.

8. The Great British Bake-Off
As British writer Rebecca Reid (@RebeccaCNReid) tweeted in October, “I miss when the #GBBO challenges were ‘make a three tier cake’ rather than ‘render your earliest childhood trauma in choux.’” Still, every episode brings respite and delight. If you’ve never watched the show, start with the Mary Berry era. (We miss her and Mel and Sue, and I don’t care what anyone says—Matt Lucas remains gratingly unfunny.) And yay for young Peter (b. 2000!!!!), except for that time when he said that he learned about the 1980s “just after medieval history.” Thank God for British baking shows.

9. “Think About Things,” Daði Freyr
I’ve been thinking lots of thoughts about lots of things, including something that 2020 stole: Iceland’s inevitable, well-deserved win at the Eurovision Song Contest. At least we still have the song. Thank God for strange Icelanders and their pop music.

10. Malaysia
I took just one trip overseas in 2020: In the “before” times, when my U.S. passport was a useful object, I began my year in Malaysia, on assignment for Travel+Leisure. On the island of Langkawi, I went for a hike with Irshad Mubarak, the Datai resort’s resident naturalist. As we crossed a golf course, he pointed at three mountains rising from the island’s heart and told me the legend behind their creation: Mat Cincang was a giant whose best friend was another giant named Mat Raya. Mat Cincang’s son fell in love with Mat Raya’s daughter. On the wedding day, the parents got into a tremendous fight, and another giant, Bukit Sawar, intervened. A lightning bolt shot from the heavens, turning all three giants to stone. Mat Raya, the tallest, became Langkawi’s highest peak, Mat Cincang the second-highest, and Bukit Sawar the hill in between, all testifying to the enduring legacy of disharmony. “The land teaches us,” Irshad told me. “It carries our stories, and we have to learn to listen to it.” Thank God for the land.

10. Redfish
Now that we live in a non-coastal state (no, Lake Michigan doesn’t count), we really miss seafood. A dish that will endure in our memories until we get to eat it again: “redfish on the half shell” at chef Ford Fry’s La Lucha, in Houston, Tristan’s hometown, which may be America’s greatest unrecognized culinary capital. Locally caught redfish is roasted in a wood-fired oven, slathered in spices, bathed in brown butter, and then topped with pecans. The tender white fish, the rich and spicy fat, the pecans’ crunch—unforgettable. Thank God for surprising combinations.

11. Oysters
Midway through the year, a box appeared at our door: a dozen Cape Cod oysters, sent by beloved people who saw our lack. Within an hour, I learned, via YouTube, how to shuck oysters. They are strange and miraculous, these little bivalves, helping keep our oceans clean and then offering up briny deliciousness. Thank God for YouTube and thick kitchen towels, versatile creatures and friends who know.

12. Nigella Lawson saying “microwave.” 
Mee-cro-wah-vay. All my microwave cooking just got a lot more sophisticated. I don’t know why this clip delighted me, but it did. Thank God for tiny, absurd, and unexpected pleasures. 

13. The Overstory
As I began Richard Powers’s magisterial 2019 novel about how our lives are intertwined with those of trees, I quickly realized I didn’t understand what he was doing, even as he did it so beautifully. This book was long. It took me eons to finish. I couldn’t read much of it at once; it was a lot. Then, like all the best books, I was so sad when I got to the end. Thank God for the trees and the stories, long and tangled as a redwood’s roots, that they inspire.

14. Olivia Colman as HM the Q
We’re savoring “The Crown,” which has reminded me that Charles is ..... and Camilla will never be my queen. Anyway: To watch Olivia Colman as Queen Elizabeth II is to witness a work of majesty. Colman does wordless wonders, especially in the episode in which the Queen explores what it means to be a mother. Thank God for gifted artists.

15. My church
My tenure as teacher in residence at Central Reformed Church will be over next month. About 90% of my time there has happened under the cloud of COVID-19. In some ways, I’ve done far less than I’d hoped to; in others, it’s been much more than I imagined. I’m thankful for the elders and deacons who braved something new and different—and indeed someone new and different. I owe a particular debt of gratitude to the committee formed to accompany me through the year, which they’ve done with rich words of encouragement, acts of patient service, and generous gifts. Thank God for kind and courageous congregations.

16. The broader church
Is it odd that I’d be grateful for my denomination and even for the church universal in 2020? I wrote in The New York Times in July about my ongoing ordination ordeal. We’ve seen plenty of evidence, too, of the profane mischief that some sectors of American Christianity have got up to in the political sphere. Yet I also see the loving testimonies of so many who refuse to surrender the name “Christian,” even as much of the Church maligns or marginalizes them. Thank God for faithful witnesses.

17. Evolving Faith
Early in 2019, Rachel Held Evans called me and asked if I might want to help her and Sarah Bessey out with this thing called Evolving Faith. None of us had any clue what the future would bring—the deep grief, the profound challenges, the unexpected joys. This year, Sarah and I made a podcast, even though neither of us wanted to be podcasters. And with an indefatigable and ridiculously small team, we found a way to gather—more than 8,000 people scattered across six continents, to hold onto the hope of God together. Thank God for campfires and picnics in the wilderness.

19. Instagram and Zoom
I’m on record as having not-so-good feelings about Twitter, and Facebook is just okay. But I love Instagram and the small square windows it offers into the lives of friends and family, especially when we can’t be together in-person. And I’ve come around to see the benefits of Zoom, from drinks with friends to adult ed with folks who wouldn’t be able to make it to church even in the best of times. Thank God for glimpses of beauty and the bridges that technology can build.

20. Notes of a Make-Believe Farmer
I started writing you all in March, I think, shortly after lockdown began. Most weeks, I still feel as if I don’t know what I’m doing, but I hope you’ve found something helpful and/or useful and/or comforting and/or entertaining and/or encouraging in my notes. I’m especially grateful for the comments and emails that you send me—recipes, seed suggestions, wonderings about your place in the world, reflections spurred by my ramblings. Thank God for letters. And again, tell me what you’re grateful for!

Last but by no means least, I want to embarrass Tristan, my patient and long-suffering husband, by publicly expressing my gratitude for him. Thank God for those who love us not just despite but also because.

As I say every week, I’m so glad we can stumble through all this together. Thank you all so much for being with me in this. I’ll try to write again soon. 

Yours,
Jeff

*Maybe the new year will compel me to revisit my way of marking the days, which still goes back to June 1, when my governor, Gretchen Whitmer, lifted Michigan’s stay-at-home order. We’ve seen good progress in Michigan over the past month—hurray for masks and the people who wear them!—and I’m hopeful about the vaccines. Please keep wearing your masks. Please keep your physical distance. Please stay safe.