One year ago tomorrow, I wrote the first of what has become a year’s worth of dispatches from our pandemic year. Although I’ve been blogging since 2003, I’d never been especially faithful about posting here at Surely Joy, but that changed last March. “I am going to write here every Friday, as I am able,” I said a week later — and I have. (Well, sometimes, I’ve posted on Thursday or Saturday. Close enough!)

We’ve all been marking anniversaries this month: the last time we went to an office, a classroom, a concert, or a religious service. The last unmasked visit with a friend. The last time we got to see someone who is no longer with us. So much lost. And yet so much gained, too, in understanding and perspective as we’ve navigated what Sophie Gilbert recently described in The Atlantic as “our unholy era of perpetual March.”

This is my last weekly pandemic postcard; I’m going to return to posting here when I feel I have something to say. As I conclude this year’s worth of weekly musings, I’d like to leave you with an exercise you can do to mark the end of your year in the pandemic, something I am borrowing from my friend Laura, who suggested it on her blog earlier this month. Laura described re-reading Viktor Frankl’s book Man’s Search for Meaning and seeing anew a passage about how we store memories, “the full granaries of the past” into which we bring the harvest of our lives: “the deeds done, the ones loved, and last but not least, the sufferings they have gone through with courage and dignity.”

Laura writes, “The passage from Frankl’s book prompted me to begin a list of things I have done during this pandemic year, which has also been a time of change and loss in a different way. I have often felt unfocused and wondered where the days have gone. Have I lost them?” She continues, “My list included everything from caring for my husband post surgery to writing every morning (finally) to holding yoga practice with friends in my front yard. I quickly realized, this wasn’t a list of accomplishments, but rather a list of experiences. I had so many valuable memories that I quickly ran out of room on the page.”

At this time last year, we all had many ideas on ways we could bring meaning to a time that seemed devoid of any sense. We thought we might have a few weeks of isolation and weirdness, so most of us felt compelled to use it wisely. Then time folded in on itself; weeks became months and months became a year and here we are. Forget everything you didn’t do (or that you didn’t do as much as you had hoped). Think about what you’ve done — your storehouse of experiences and memories. Make a list or a drawing or a collage to capture it. Maybe write a letter to yourself to read a year from now.

I’d also love to leave you with these words, which I recently read in Creative Care, a book by Anne Basting. She writes, “Happiness or joy can spring from immediate pleasure in the moment. Meaningfulness, on the other hand, needs more cooks and more time to cook.”

This past year, we’ve all been part of creating something the world has never seen — a stew that has been seasoned by tears, laughter, despair, resilience, and hope. The kettle is still simmering; we’ll need to stir it from time to time.

We may never know when it’s done, but I still look forward to seeing how it turns out.

Thank you for reading Surely Joy. A special thanks to these people who offered support via my Patreon page over the past six months: Natalie, Jeff and Kevin, Rebecca, Laura, Marge and Lew, Jim and Kitty, David and Carrie, Chris and LeAnne, Anita, Jan, Nancy, Marianne, Joanne, Victoria, Tara, Scott, Kevin, Felicia, Eileen, Linda, Karen, and Mari. If you enjoy my writing, you can continue to support it via sharing my posts, hitting the tip jar, or buying a book. And elsewhere on this page, you’ll see a place where you can sign up to get Surely Joy via email when I write again — which I will. See you again soon.