My 2020 started ahead of schedule. In the scorching hot last days of 2019 we were watching the emergency warnings closely. Though it felt inevitable when I was called back into the office early to man a bushfire relief centre in Tallangatta with fires raging all around the region, I already felt exhausted.
Then, just as the worst of the bushfires calmed down, we walked straight into another crisis. But this one was largely invisible, and unfolded slowly in the form of confusion and uncertainty.
In disaster recovery there is an accepted cycle - the disaster is followed by a high fueled by heroics as the community bands together and gets through the immediate aftermath. But then comes the extended period of disillusionment and despair as people grieve and deal with their fatigue, devastation and frustration differently. Mental health issues that may have otherwise gone unnoticed have been compounded, interpersonal issues left unresolved face too much strain, and this is often the time when communities fracture.
Mostly, this phase isn’t permanent. People realise that they need each other if they’re to come out the other side, and are able to grieve together and settle back into a new normal to get on with things.
Along a similar vein, I’ve seen the idea of “surge capacity depletion” referenced throughout the various stages of lockdown. This is what happens when the physical and mental mechanisms we use to deal with an acute crisis are called upon as the crisis is extended and becomes chronic. In an extended rolling disaster like COVID, it feels harder to distinguish when an acute crisis becomes chronic.
Perhaps because we’ve all experienced 2020 so differently. For some it has brought job losses, business closures, financial pressures. For many, remote work, remote learning and too many balls in the air. For others, new babies, new perspectives, and time to cocoon with family.
I was definitely one of the lucky ones - gainfully employed, able to work from home, and surrounded by green space with room to move. No kids to juggle, no care responsibilities to negotiate, and friends and family who - though distant - have made the effort to keep in touch. I’ve spent more time at home this year than ever before, and I’ve been so grateful to be able to slow down, and work on some things to keep me excited and inspired. I feel very fortunate - but it doesn’t mean this year hasn’t still been hard.
I’ve had a few conversations with friends and colleagues over the past few weeks about the feeling that the end of the year has come a month too late. Perhaps you’ve felt it too - that sense that you ran out of puff with one leg of the race still to run. Most of the year has been spent in a bizarre kind of holding pattern where work and home life are completely indistinguishable. The days have just kind of rolled together, one into the next, with no delineation between effort and ease. And so everything has felt like effort…
By any measure this year has been a marathon. But it has definitely forced a lot of us to think about what’s important, what to leave behind us, and what to take with us into the next chapter.
I’m SO looking forward to a break this festive season, and to starting the new year with fresh optimism and energy.