Is it cynical to find the silver lining, to instinctively seek it in the first place? One supposes it depends upon whom answers. Cynical could be read as pragmatic. 2020 was a vile year for so many around the globe, on so many facets. For those whom did not survive it, for their inner circles, there is, likely, no silver lining, and the only thing to write is sincerest condolences. What can one say, but, I'm sorry. For those whom survived, we were afforded the opportunity of self-reflection and existential reexamination. The question is, did you self-reflect, did you examine the life you're living? Did you find yourself content with your innermost findings? Excellent! What a wonderful place to start; a good attitude is always a great starting block! Conversely, did you find yourself displeased with your status quo? If so, what did you do to change your status? For, if 2020 didn't slap you silly and teach us everything can change overnight, literally overnight - from shutdowns of fave pubs and restaurants, to travel and event cancellations, to school closures, and, most heinously, death -  then you failed to pay proper attention. However, a paradigm shift doesn't have to be viewed solely with pessimism; it is possible to view also with optimism, taking advantage of a forced situation and busting thorough it victoriously, or at least thinner. Whilst the beginning of the pandemic was almost too freaky to comprehend, by April it was clear we were all homebody-noobies and, depending on your frame-of-mind, what a marvelous, unique opportunity, in the course of human history, to Seize the Upside, Seize the Day and Emerge Better. 

If you think on other pandemics and plagues throughout mankind's history (the Spanish Flu of 1918, the European Black Death of the mid-14thC, the San Francisco and Australian Plagues of 1900), there could not be a better time to be in lockdown. First and foremost, medical research and application the world over is, obviously, cutting-edge in 2020/2021. Yet, what other era has afforded us the beauty and utility of the Internet? Lockdown might mean your local bar is closed, your kids are now homeschooled (never a bad plan anyhoo, I thought) and you work from home now (also never a bad plan), but you have complete access to whatever you need/want/crave. Imagine having had Amazon and Instacart in 1915 Sydney or 1350 Vienna. Imagine all the YouTube the quarantined might have watched during the Spanish Flu days? Like visiting New Orleans, Vegas, Paris or Amsterdam: if you're bored, you're just not trying. Got an itch? The world is in your hand. Use your technology to scratch that itch. 

Language, exercise, film, fashion, literature, the Fine Arts, writing: all constants in my existence. Bettering my knowledge of these joys are habitually expected, of myself; ergo, filling quarantine time with these pursuits was easy and fun. Kicking up my language study, adding a new level of difficulty to my yoga practice, committing to more writing, more often, including learning new styles of long-form poetry, studying every Woody Allen film, including identifying specific jazz songs within each film, and expanding my education of European painting and sculpture were all movements I expected to enact, regardless of a lockdown. What I didn't expect were the pursuits that piggybacked on my elemental interests.

If you desire fluency in a second (or third, or fourth) language, you must nurture it. If not, cool. Polyglotism isn't for everyone. I bet you're a lot better at math than I. Yet, if you are seeking fluency, simply because you learned a foreign language as a child, took it in high school, or even at advanced levels in college, doesn't mean you can let it flounder. It will pop back, though. Your long-term memory will rush it all the the front burner and off we go! Yet, to become proficient, like any art or sport, #practicepracticepractice! Flms, websites, Insta accounts, TV series, Zooming & Skypeing with friends whom speak your language of pursuit, whatever it takes, wherever you find it, practice as much as you can, daily.

As lockdown began last March, I found a fab new, Duolingo, to help me keep up my French and German. Whilst there, I thought it might be sage to add Italian,which I've been casually noshing on for about a decade. Then, because I'm bonkers for languages, I thought how fun to add a few more: Irish, Danish, Japanese, Klingon and Dutch. (Duolingo offers thirty-eight languages, including endangered languages like Hawaiian and Navajo. To boot, it's free and such fun! Yes, there are paid-subscription models, but the free version keeps one très occupée. Also, DYK, Ashton Kutcher was one of the early investors? Do yourself a fave and check on it! "The best new way to learn a language. Gamiification poured into every lesson!" Moi senses a future post devoted to Duolingo ... check back soon.)

So, of all the amuse-bouche languages I piled on my plate, what stuck was Dutch. Similar to Italain, I had been casually pursuing Dutch, if only for a couple of years, because of my love affair with The Netherlands and the Dutch. Ik houd van het Nederland en zijn mensen! Today, I am nearing my 365-day learning streak via Duolingo. (I believe today is something like 349.) Thanks to Duolingo plus following some Dutch-language Insta accounts (trying to translate captions and comments is xlnt for capturing colloquialisms), news-sites and watching the few Dutch-language films Netflix offers, my Dutch is - als ik het zelf mag zeggen - making wonderful progress. Now, if the Schengen zone reopens to American travellers, I'll be able to get back to my beloved Amsterdam and practice mijn Nederlands.

Now, it's true, languages come very easily to me. (Of course, it is at a brain cost for math and map-reading. Ask me to find a fraction, a percentage, do subtraction involving 9s, or ask me help navigate through the Irish countryside you will see a tearful, hopeless, sloppy pile of JennyPop.) Not all languages are my friends. I'm maintaining a tenuous hold on the basics of Irish. I might be able to politely request a menu, order some water, bread, wine and a sandwich, and, if I can work it into a conversation, point out to any passers-by on the Dingle coastline, "The seal eats a fish!" Itheann an séala iasc!." I don't ever expect to be fluent in Irish or Japanese (another one I'm working on, if only at learning the alphabet and characters thus far), and that's okay. Fluency, for me, will likely be relegated to French, German, Dutch and English (duh). Maybe Italian if I can get there again for a few months. However, in the realm of languages, I am not used to is failing, flat-out. However, I failed this year, miserably. Failure, thy name is Klingon.

Doff my cap, I do, to anyone whom can speak it. Pronunciation, to be precise, is not my problem. Dutch and German have taught me well the hard, throaty Gs, Hs and Rs. It is the sentence structure, possessives and pronouns that stump me, well, stumped me: past-tense. You will rarely read, or hear, this from Moi, yet ... I quit. You win, Klingon. I'm tapping out for good. Not one one to walk away empty-handed, I did learn one apropos, très useful phrase: Tu'HomI'raH SoH ‘e’ Sov wo’  "You are a thing notable for its uselessness; the Empire knows this." Ha! Too true, Klingon, too true.

The Greeks and Spartans believed it was not only vital to work the mind, but the body in equal measure. Agreed. Movement has been pivotal to my life since preschool and continues to this day: ballet, gymnastics, track and cross-country (hated it), field hockey (briefly and only because I loved the kilts), fencing, too many gym-memberships to count, and, as of the last fifteen years, yoga. The last six or so have been following Boho Beautiful Earth-angel, the quiet, gentle, beach-based, vegan and elegant Juliana Spicoluk. (I don't do frenzied, high-energy, you-got-this-girl! kind of frantic coaching. Ick.) In 2020, as I imagine many did, I added some meditation to my yoga practice. It was helpful on some days, notably in the earliest days of the pandemic, when nobody knew what the virus was, how it was transmitted and whether or not it was survivable. Like a Cloverfield monster out there somewhere, anxiety could creep in if one wasn't careful. Juliana's peaceful meditations definitely calmed me when needed. However, I'm more of a stretchy than sitty kind of girl and, whilst I still do the occasional meditation, I like to move. Happily, thanks to Juliana's nurturing instruction, I achieved some poses this past year I never thought possible, for me: Flying Crow, Full Mermaid, Double Eagle and various arm-binds. Still woefully out of my grasp are Bird of Paradise, Lotus Headstand and Pistol Squat. They're the Klingon of yoga. (Look them up, they're bonkers advanced!) 

Of course, a girl can't live on all lavender water, plinky spa music and love and light. Sometimes she needs a Guinness, some obnoxious, Dropkick Murphys and to kick up her heels, literally. 2020 was the year of Irish step-dancing and, like Dutch, it has burrowed deep into my heart and soul and has stuck like hearty, steel-cut oatmeal. Irish dance feels like home. It is also bonkers-difficult, way too much fun, requires supa cute dance shoes and, best of all, an hour of Star Jumps, Light Jigs, Rocks, Leap-2-3s, Sevens and Hornpipes is, by far, the hardest, sweatiest, heart-thumpiest workout I've ever endured Irish step-dancing: like a real sport, only much harder and wherein the weak are killed and eaten ... and washed down with a nice pint of Guinness. 

Oh, big whoop, JennyPop, the fair reader might comment here with exasperation and eye-rolls. You did some stuff. So what?  So this, fair reader ... my endeavours mean very little, if anything, to anyone other than Moi, and that is the point of 2020. This is not an advice column; I wouldn't dare be so confident or bold. Besides, you are too wise. As Ben Franklin sagely postured, Wise men don't need advice and fools don't take it.

Life can change very quickly and sans warning. Pursue your Best You because you want to, not because others wish it or want it for you or you think you're supposed to because of social pressure. If your Best You is a kick-ass cupcake baker, get on it. If your Best You is only a few credits shy of a degree, finish. If your Best You wants to lose weight, learn to knit, garden, cook, dance, write poetry, play soccer or paint, do it. Whatever you choose, do it with gratitude, gratitude for this beautiful life you get to live. Life isn't a carousel; we don't get multiple go-rounds. As Mom said, when I dithered once about what to order at a Karl Strauss, "Don't worry about the calories, honey. Eat the macaroni and cheese. Maybe there won't be a next time to get it." (Full disclosure: I did not get it. Instead, I got the waterrnelon goat-cheese salad. Mommy passed away suddenly about two weeks later. She was right, I should've gotten the macaroni and cheese.)

Whatever 2020 brought, the intangible sentiment of humanity and friendship is what will last, for Moi anyhoo. The opportunity of a year shaken so violently, like a snow globe in the hands of an horrible toddler, has shined a spotlight on friendships. 2020 brought me closer to my dearest friends, it brought a couple back from a silly tiffs and, for better or worse, it exposed a long-term friendship to be, sadly yet truthfully, nothing more than an façade: if it was easy, we were friends; the moment it took effort, we were not. A hard lesson to learn, but glad to know its depth. Where friends are the truest, not even a global pandemic can keep you apart; there are ways to keep connected, especially today. Where friends are fairweather, all it takes is a global pandemic to serve as the perfect excuse to break contact altogether. It's likely they're just not that into you, maybe never were. Sorry, but that's the short and sour truth of it, kittens. Move on to the folks whom appreciate the amazing unicorn you are. 

2021 has had a slow yet gentle and promising start. It's like driving a big sedan with a powerful, 390horsepower kind of engine. You don't bust off the stoplight like a flashy nutter, you very slowly pull away, giving those horsies a light kick. By the time you approach 30mph, you kick it up a tick. After that, you're just a smoky grey blur on PCH. It's almost April. I'm feeling about 45mph ... I can't wait to hit full speed. 

Abyssinia, kittens! Keep bettering yourselves!

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