Looking back on 2020, I’m trying to remember the little things

Life can be hard, but that doesn’t mean it’s not good, with thousands of moments of joy

On Sunday, after our daughter woke from her nap, we went for a late afternoon walk. It was cold, sunny and crisp. We walked around Harold's Cross in Dublin, up through Terenure, ending up in Eaton Square. It was a short walk, but it made me appreciate a lot of things.

Terenure has an office-supply shop with a delightful Christmas surprise in its window. It’s like the old Switzers display in miniature; a twinkling winter-wonderland diorama of moving trains, snow-topped cabins, elves and warmly lit homes. Through this glass, where you expect to see printers and pens, there is instead a whole tiny town; your childhood dream of Christmas condensed in this wholly unexpected place.

I appreciated the effort the owners of this shop went through to set it up. It brings a little joy to everyone who walks by.

Here’s another thing I appreciated – all the people who smiled and said hello to our kids that afternoon. This is something I have always appreciated, in fairness. When you’re out walking with your children, and you see a person’s face light up with a smile (it usually happens with older people, but not always), you can’t help but feel a little more optimistic. You’d be forgiven for forgetting, but most people are pretty nice.

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In the tiny park in Eaton Square, the sun was setting and our daughter was running down a minuscule hill faster than her legs could carry her. I watched, thinking please don’t fall, please don’t fall, but of course she did fall. She was covered in mud, but unhurt – a minor victory.

We found a huge, wriggling earthworm that enthralled them for much longer than I thought it would. We stayed a little too late and I broke my spine in seven different places carrying our son all the way home.

When I look back on 2020, what will I remember?

The year seems to have begun in March. There was fear at the beginning, certainly. After Leo’s St Patrick Day’s speech I remember thinking, is this it? Is this how it ends? Nobody knew what was going on. If you took a Nurofen you might have died.

Lockdown, masks, hand sanitiser, all that stuff. But what else?

The house we are renting is being sold, and we have thus far been unable to find anywhere else to live. The new reigning champion of things keeping us awake at night is where our son will start school next September. The stress might actually kill us.

We found out our daughter has to have major hip surgery and won’t be allowed to stand up for six weeks. We’ve pushed that nugget to the backs of our minds, where it’s festering nicely.

I’m pretty sure I’m clinically sleep-deprived. I have had a near-constant headache for about six months. I call it my Covid headache, and we’re cool with each other now.

So not a vintage year. For anyone.

All that stuff happened, but it’s not all that happened. My selective memory is doing a great disservice to the thousands of tiny moments that brought us joy throughout the year.

About a week ago my son said, apropos of nothing, “Papa, what’s your philosophy?” (I don’t mind admitting the fact he still calls me Papa is another source of unfettered joy.)

Taken slightly aback I said: “Well, my philosophy is everyone should be nice to each other.”

To which he replied, “My philosophy is spiders.”

I mean, come on. Talking to a four-year-old is a lot of fun. Slightly less fun, however, is this recent obsession with spiders. At the moment he wants, more than anything in the world, to be bitten by a spider so he turns into Spider-Man. He is still oblivious to my crippling fear of those vile monstrosities, so the daily hunt for one continues.

The year has been filled with these moments. But they are small moments, and so easily forgotten in the face of such monumental global anxiety.

I go through the photos in my phone and all I see are happy memories. Baking in the kitchen, picnics in Phoenix Park, dressing up for Halloween, a swim at Brittas beach, a chaotic game of Monopoly, a trip to the skate park to try out new roller skates. Here’s one of our daughter after smearing lipstick all over her face, looking like a particularly deranged yet undeniably cute Joker.

Life can be hard, but that doesn’t mean it’s not good.

We’ve all been through an extraordinarily tough year, and it is incredible what we have achieved. We have changed how we work and how we live.

When we look back on it; maybe when we’re telling our children what it was like, I hope we can remember all those lovely Sunday walks and talks about spider philosophy.