I’ve been reflecting a lot lately on what I’ve learned about the world, and myself during this carnival ride of a year, because, let’s be honest — this year has sucked for everyone no matter what or where you are, but it has also been eye-opening. Small moments we have always taken for granted have become our lifelines. The underappreciated relics of our past have emerged in novel ways to help us cope with the very real and often horrifying circumstances of our new normal. We’ve all discovered something about ourselves, our families, and our communities, things we love, things that drive us crazy, and things that may terrify us. I’m not a political person — there’s enough of that fanfare going around that I don’t need to add my two cents. Instead, I kindly offer a few of my insights for your wandering gaze to behold.

The first and possibly most important item on my list is Hollandaise Sauce. As most of you may know, I adore eggs benedict. I have traveled far and wide seeking the perfect balance of butter, egg, lemon and paprika. We’ve even invited many of you along on our journey. Although our little group of breakfast loving foodies is on an indefinite hiatus, the search continues. I’ve found some amazing sauces, too — but this year it looked a bit different. Enter my husband, and his love of experimentation. The first batch was ok, too buttery (I prefer a tangy sauce), the second was littered with spice, the third… almost there. I won’t mention the red wine, or the ghost pepper versions, I really tried to like them, honest, I did! Then we hit the motherlode: the perfect ratio of lemon and butter. Soon eggs benedict became another food group in our house—breakfast, lunch, or dinner. A ritual, one that’s steady rhythm calmed us after a particularly annoying day/week.

Like everyone, we have spent more time in front of our screens this year than any other, and with that came a few new preferences to add to our every growing entertainment collection. Our favorite, and possibly the best addition: Schitt’s Creek. For those of you who have not stumbled upon this gem, it follows the misadventures of a once wealthy, but now down-and-out family as they cope with being broke in a small town. We watched the first episode with preconceived ideas, believing it would be another annoying woe is me story — but we were wrong, so very wrong. The cast of characters is delightful (I adore Moira — I aspire to own that many wigs someday.) The stories are heartfelt and hilarious. The way this group of strangers, who just happen to be a family blossoms into a medley of brave, caring characters is delightful. Pardon me while I gush: I LOVE THIS SHOW.

It’s been 14 months since I last ventured into a hair salon. I chopped off my hair last October and haven’t made it back since. I know salons are open again, but I confess to feeling a little uncomfortable sitting so close to someone, even with my mask on. So I’ve gone all natural and guess what? I love my gray hair. I’ve tried to love it many times, but the idea of age and all the changes that come with it have stymied my attempts. I have survived 43 years in this world and damnit, I’m going to celebrate that, not hide from it. Gray hair is beautiful, wrinkles are beautiful. They outline the paths our lives have taken for both good and bad.

I renewed my attempts at yoga back in May. I say attempts because, while I am indeed bendy enough, I’m unable to hold the bendy pose for very long. However, there is one pose that is like heaven to me, one that calms my racing heart and allows me to sink into the delightfully ambient music flowing like waves through my headphones: Child’s pose. Oh, wow. I love child’s pose. The cool wood floor against my cheek as I stretch my arms over my head and elongate my back… heaven. I don’t even care about completing my sun salutations as long as child’s pose exists.

Before the pandemic, I couldn’t bake anything more than store-bought cookies. We all cope with stress in our own way, for my husband it was the rhythm of creating hollandaise sauce, for me — it’s watching bread rise. I love it almost as much as I love Child’s pose. This week I’m baking babkas. Babka is sweet braided bread, usually chocolate or cinnamon. They originated in the Jewish communities of Poland and the Ukraine and are simply delicious.

People have a great capacity for kindness, I have always believed this. I do my best to practice it in my everyday life, as I’m sure you do too. But there are varying degrees of kindness — that has become terribly apparent in our current situation. Kindness to those we love and kindness to those we don’t. Within some kindness lingers an underlining selfishness that surprised me. My naivete is showing, I’m sure, but I believed that the common good would prevail. I’m very familiar with the ‘what’s in it for me?’ mentality. I worked retail for 24 years, I’ve dealt with my share of Karens and Kevins. I just foolishly assumed that during a global pandemic, when the lives of our neighbors, our families, our communities were at stake, we would all find it in our hearts to protect all people — to leave our egos at the door, to look beyond our bubble and offer compassion. Taking an extra minute to smile, to offer a little cheer to someone’s day, can make all the difference. I have many thoughts on this — Don’t worry, I’ll spare you. Although if you’re interested, I posted a prose piece on my blog entitled, A Fluffy White Girl’s Thoughts on Current Events.

Which brings me to another unpopular opinion… Masks. People, I love my mask. Especially in the winter, it’s like an extra layer of warmth for my face. and BONUS: it’s kept us from catching all the random sicknesses that usually come our way in the spring and fall. Not only am I keeping those around me safe from my nasty germs, but I’m being kept safe too. It is a win-win if you ask me. Also, there are some very fancy cloth masks out there, I’m partial to floral prints. They make me happy.

Finally, I’d like to take a minute to honor the 5 minute solo dance party. Without those sporadic and joyous blitzes of movement to brighten my day, I’d be lost. I don’t even need music. After hours of typing and glaring at my computer screen, the sweet release of a silent solo dance party is a welcome change. Just wiggle a bit, arms raised, jump around, hum an awkward tune, allow yourself to be free, to be ridiculous — it’s glorious! Your own personal rave. Make up a little song. It doesn’t have to make sense, in fact — it’s better if it doesn’t. Revel in the person you have become, love the wildness inside you, and spin in circles until you bump in to the kitchen counter, then giggle and start over.

Never stop dancing, people.