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Why Does It Still Feel Like The World Is Ending?
This time last year, after weathering the deadliest months of a raging killer virus, we all swore that the world had to be ending. How else could we explain the biblical proportions of global catastrophes, stemming from a mysterious life-threatening pandemic that violently made its debut to kickoff a profoundly prolific new decade?
My world ended when my functioning alcoholism was no longer functional, and I had to make the conscious decision to swallow my pride and fears by starting all over.
Leaving Los Angeles and surrendering to a more mundane existence seemed like the end of the world, but I was willing to do whatever it takes to survive my manic track record.
The plan was to rise to the occasion and give 2020 my best performance at being a vital contributor to society, as a beaten down mid-lifer who refuses to fade away into obscurity.
Obviously my vision board was rattled by the same disruptive force that replaced our normalcy with the challenge of redefining what’s still very difficult to translate after over a year of personal strife, aggressively enhanced by the never-ending presence of a hovering menace.
By the end of March 2020, it was clear that the arrival of the coronavirus was going to to be the monumental event of all our lives.
