If I asked you to describe 2020 in one word, what word would you choose? Pandemic? Chaos? Disappointment? Virtual? Social-distance? All of the above are apt descriptors for this merciless year but at least for me, they don’t quite capture it as succinctly as this one: powerlessness. I’ve felt incredibly powerless in the past ten months and to be totally honest, it’s not my favorite feeling.
I feel powerless to stop the virus. Powerless to protect my aging mom. Powerless to convince the politicians that we the people are the reason they’re D.C. Powerless about the success or failure of my new book. And on and on it goes.
Of course, despite my feelings, I am rarely completely powerless. Feeling powerless and being powerless are two different things. Typically, we have agency over how we respond. I might not be an epidemiologist creating a vaccine but I can wear a mask, limit contact with non-family members, and follow other CDC guidelines. I can’t make the governmental leaders act sanely but I can vote and speak up when I see injustice. I can’t make anyone buy my book but I can diligently get the word out.
Hope plays a major role in seasons of powerlessness. This is tricky because powerlessness can breed hopelessness.
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