Don't Forget the Garnish, and Other Crucial 2020 Takeaways
I survived nine months worth of a deadly global pandemic and all I got were these stupid life lessons.
VANCOUVER — Twelve months ago, some friends and I were seated in a crowded vegetarian restaurant for what felt like a victory brunch. We had cracked the spine on a new year some hours before, lighting sparklers on the beach and wantonly slurping champagne out of a communal bottle as the clock struck midnight. The next morning, our normally grey city was enveloped under a blue bird sky; sunlight glinted off the snow-capped peaks lining the North Shore, and temperatures hovered somewhere above 10°C. There was every reason to celebrate.
And so we did. Over poached eggs, micro greens and oat milk lattes, we compared notes on the year that was, and plotted the myriad ways in which 2020 was going to be even better. We were going to work-out more and worry less, attend writing workshops and finally finish furnishing our apartments. We were going to get double-digit raises at work and pay off our credit card debt. And we were going to travel–to Morocco, Los Angeles, Tokyo. Nothing and nowhere, it seemed, was off limits. By the time the bills arrived, we were firing on all cylinders. It was a great start to an even greater year.
Or, so we thought.
A lot has been written about the past ~365 days, about our pandemic year and the hard lessons it wrought. Despite what ‘And the People Stayed Home’ would have you believe, the novel coronavirus is not a shiny red reset-button. If anything, it’s a particle accelerator. For nine months, every emotionally charged aspect of daily life has been sent crashing in a series of tests seemingly designed to tear the fabric that ties us all together. Friends, family, workplaces, restaurants, hugs, handshakes were all sent careening after head-on collisions with COVID-19. And still, we’re not in the clear.
It’s tempting to look at the calendar and see a clean slate–as if last year’s demented scribblings could somehow be torn from our collective three-ring binder. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. Yes, we have a vaccine coming to protect our corporeal forms. But the psychic weight of shelter-in-place orders, anti-maskers, climate change, and police brutality have stained 2021 with indelible ink. Sitting here after a New Years Eve comprised of strong cocktails and socially-distanced Zoom calls, it’s clear there’s no post-hoc explanation satisfying enough to justify everything that’s happened, no deus ex machina coming to undo COVID-19. Our only hope, and indeed our only option, is to try and learn from everything that’s happened.
A paradox of the pandemic is that seemingly universal problems have demanded personal solutions. As our lives became more self-contained and so too did our epiphanies. There do seem to be some universal takeaways: that losing things teaches you what matters most, that you are surprisingly resilient, that change is a forever constant. Still, a lot of 2020’s lasting lessons seem tailored to the individual.
With that in mind, here are 5 lessons that helped me survive our pandemic year. Hopefully they can work equal wonders for you.
1) Don’t Forget the Garnish
Of my few goals for the past year, transitioning into a full blown cocktail guy was not high on the list. In fact, it wasn’t on the list at all. And yet nothing, save for maybe Human Pursuits, has taught me more. About myself, about friendship, and also about the importance of garnish.
Like a so many cishet men, I grew up believing Spartan living was a badge of honour. I bought individual towels from IKEA, used minimal herbs and spices on food, and did body-weight workouts because “it’s just as good as a gym”. Without even realizing it, I endorsed a toxic worldview that interprets self-discipline as the denial of basic comforts or, worse still, the occasional extravagance. It’s programming I have spent years trying to overwrite. But occasionally some old code manages to slip through.
Even though I was excited to start slinging drinks, I frequently ignored the recommended garnishes. Anything other than a lemon or lime wedge felt needlessly frivolous. Where would I even find ground hibiscus? Why would I go to the store and buy mint sprigs just for this one cocktail? It was only in December, as my partner and I sipped Tom Sandoval and Ariana Madix’s ‘Naughty Holiday’, that I realized garnishes are more than decoration.
The drink calls for a dusting of shaved chocolate and chili powder. Despite having both ingredients on hand, I was too lazy to bother. It was only on our second round that I decided to hold an impromptu taste test, grabbing some Lindor truffles out of our holiday dish and grating them into the glass before generously peppering the drink with No Name Brand chili powder. On the surface it seemed like a minor change, but it fundamentally altered the drink’s DNA. What initially tasted overpowering now seemed subtle and nuanced. I realized that despite being listed at the bottom of the recipe, garnishes are never meant to be treated as an afterthought. They add depth, colour and even texture. Without them, the concoction is incomplete.
This small epiphany extends beyond my specific misadventures in mixology. It’s easy to forgo the accoutrements when life feels like one long holding pattern, but the little garnishes – blankets, candles, desserts, guitar pedals, Pelotons, etc. – help to heighten, our experience and enjoyment of daily life. They are the last mile in our never-ending marathon. Without them, the race is hardly worth running.
2) All the Small Things
By that same token, the past twelve months felt like a near constant reminder to appreciate the little things. Wildfire smoke from California reminded me to appreciate clear blue skies, social distancing orders reminded me to appreciate even the most banal luxuries like going to gym or to the movies, and my mom’s near-death experience reminded me to spend time with family in whatever way I can.
Even technology, the last reliable source of social interaction, has at times felt precariously impermanent. In November, our internet crashed for several days. A few weeks later my MacBook Pro died. Then, over the Christmas break, I dropped my Nikon EM on a hike. None of these problems were unsolvable–a new coaxial cable reconnected our apartment to the world wide web, a new motherboard revived my Mac, and the camera is currently out for repair–but it was still rattling to realize just how shaky my connection is to the new normal. Another reminder that you don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone.
3) No Time Like the Present
Rise 😴 and grind 😢👔💼 culture 👤😳 is completely torched 🔥👎. But if the past nine months haven’t inspired you to carpe that diem, nothing will. That’s not to say you need a side-hustle or should start selling skinny teas on Instagram. In fact, forgo the capitalistic fables around productivity all together. You just need to be present.
For me, presence meant exploring Human Pursuits – writing, reading, hiking, and occasionally tending bar. For you, it might look entirely different. And that’s okay, as long you’re filling your days with something meaningful. “It’s not that we have a short time to live,” wrote Seneca, “but that we waste a lot of it.”
In other words, “You just get so many trips around the sun.”
4) Trust Your Routine
Despite what my haphazard publishing schedule would have you believe, I am able to keep a routine.
While I pretty much gave up on morning workouts this year, I still managed to walk 10,000 steps almost every day. I realigned my eating habits so that meals come at specific times (I can now guess the hour based on how hungry I am), and started reading books in the morning instead of scrolling my phone. To top it all off, I did develop some substantially better writing habits.
Conventional wisdom tells us that free time is a tenet happiness, that the hours we spend commuting and meeting deadlines is time we could actually spend flourishing into actualized human beings. And yet I found the unstructured aspect of COVID life to be one of the most grating. “My guiding rule is systemize,” said Jerry Seinfeld, speaking about routine on the Tim Ferris Show. “You have to have an end time to your writing session. If you’re going to sit down, at a desk, with a problem and do nothing else, you’ve gotta get a reward for that. And the reward is the alarm goes off, and you’re done.” While I certainly spent entire days writing this year, I’ve tried to develop more sustainable systems. I’ve tried to write in shorter bursts, and to spread projects out over longer periods of time. I’ve tried to accept that the creative process is often more complicated than you first imagine. I’ve tried to develop routines I could trust.
5) It Could Always Be Worse
I’ve been reluctant to do this sort of self-help blog, because it implies that the writer’s life is worth emulating, that they have things fully figured out. Obviously, that is not the case. Like everyone else, my year was marked by moments of anxiety, grief, depression, doubt. But there were also moments of love, success and humour. Whether things get better in 2021, I’m not sure. I do know for a fact, though, that things could always be worse.