Thanks to one of Oxford Dictionary’s new words for 2021, “Blursday,” I’ve finally put my finger on what the last 730 (plus-some) days have felt like.
Except for the unforgettable, awful days when I have received news of the loss of someone important in my life, or the days when I have received “good news” like the birth of two great-grandchildren, “Blursday” is the perfect word to describe what each passing day has felt like.
Time seems to pass in increments of indistinguishable minutes, hours and soon, after what feels like “a blur” of time, it’s another day. Each day seems to pass with the same rhythm. Repeating itself over and over again, with little distinction from the last. Is it Monday or Tuesday? Is it the 5th or the 6th? I have to check to be sure.
Thank goodness that rhythm is frequently interrupted with an outgoing or incoming pleasant phone chat, an e-mail in my inbox or an unexpected note waiting for me in my P.O. box. They all remind me of how vital human connections are in my life, though those are rarely face-to-face these days.
Those connections remind me of how fortunate I am to have the many indistinguishable moments broken up by a phone chat with a friend, when we’ve laughed a lot, mostly at our aging selves. Sometimes there’s a thoughtful note waiting for me in my P.O. box, or a humorous email sent to me by someone who was thinking of me and took the time to let me know. Someone who wanted to make me smile.
And smile I do, thinking, “Lucky me, even in these troubled times.”
Serena R. Smith