Dear 2021 Me,
First and foremost, congratulations on making it this far. If 2020 had been your favorite childhood video game, you definitely would not have saved the princess but instead fallen into the burning pit of fiery hell beneath the Mushroom Kingdom. It wouldn’t have mattered how many lives you accrued in the coin round or Classic Coca-Colas you guzzled to get through the early morning hours for just one more shot at that rascal, Bowser, either. Nope. You wouldn’t have saved anything. You would have just repeatedly bounced your dopey ass into the blazing underworld with nothing but that ridiculous hat, misplaced grin, and nary a hint of hindsight.
The silver lining is that in real life, the fire was a brick wall, so while you’re a bit bruised and confused by whatever the fuck happened in 2020, you weren’t burned alive. Phew. You also weren’t the only one who got the theoretical shit kicked out of them, which depending on your frame of reference and/or innate desire to feel special will make you feel more or less comforted. The good news is that perspective is the key to success and 2020, suck ass as it did, provided many valuable life lessons that are sure to come in handy down the road if you find yourself once again (or still) floating aimlessly and oarless deep inside the Bermuda Triangle with no map.
A new year is upon us friend, which according to pretty much everyone means everything that happened last year has come to a very clear and concise end, just like a storybook. It’s over, no more pages. Bye, Felicia! Time to ceremoniously hang your 2021 calendar on the wall and marvel at the gloriousness of the word, January, while trying really hard not to dwell on the fact that just six days in, our entire democratic process came under attack by its own extremely misguided citizens at the cheerleading of our current, and some might argue, batshit crazy, leader. Dig deep young grasshopper, you can do this! It’s time to reflect and set some realistic expectations from the other side. We don’t have to call them resolutions per se because intentionally shooting oneself in the foot from the get-go is never a good idea. Rather, let’s call it, “Shit not to do again during end times.” Grab a pencil.
First and foremost, don’t drink alcohol while setting realistic expectations in the midst of a nervous breakdown. They won’t seem realistic unless you’re drunk and you can’t always be drunk, because you can’t!
Don’t freak out, about anything (e.g., pandemics, political unrest, probable collapse of democracy, the terrifyingly uncertain futures of your children, the dude at the grocery store who pulls his mask down to sneeze, the eventual sputtering out of the sun, and/or the fact that some famous guy’s wife may or may not be faking her Spanish accent). Just don’t. No one gives a shit. Grow up.
Don’t believe everything you read/hear. Instead follow the data, just like Dorothy and her friends followed the yellow brick road to the magical, mystical Land of Oz. Once there, ask to speak to the wizard who aligns with your moral compass and buy some glittery red shoes for fun. Once you get the data you agree with and launch what you don’t into outer space, ask for a new brain, lock arms with your adventure buddies and skip off into the sunset while singing Don’t Stop Believin’, by Journey. Bring sunglasses.
Don’t dwell on shit. Overthinking is for losers.
Don’t be surprised. By anything. Ever. Let your guard down. Sit down with your soul sucking anxiety and have a heart to heart. Maybe offer the comfy chair, light a candle, and rub her mealy tentacles with a couple drops of your favorite bullshit reducing essential oils. Next, sit across from her and silently drop giant note cards (one word per card, obvi) with the following message, “If the apocalypse comes tomorrow, CHILLAX sis. It is what it is…God has a plan.” Then smile softly, shed one single tear, and run away as fast as you fucking can into the still, dark night. Wear black.
If you’re not mentally equipped to handle being thrust into a perpetual shitstorm with even the tiniest bit of grace, just don’t have anxiety silly, or any other pesky neurotransmitter problem. Instead, consider learning how to juggle steak knives with your eyes closed. No peeking.
Last, but certainly not least, don’t ever jump into a roaring fire while smiling, even during a pandemic, even during end times. It’s unnatural.
We’re doomed. Cheers!
Jill Veldhouse 