There's no looking back; we still dwell in the incomprehensible. After promising-enough beginnings, the year made us sick, beat us down, loosed our moorings, and pitted us in high-pressure games. A momentary space opened for the perennially-so afflicted. We began rewriting the rules of entitlement, hope, will, being human.

Does everything change? Does nothing? Is this truly "unprecedented," or rather imprinted in the background of survival we are ever-more alienated from? 

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Perhaps avoiding a repeat of the past depends less on our imperfect memory, and more on letting ourselves be vulnerable and changed by the present.

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