A bit over a year ago, I boarded a plane from New York to Munich, Germany, completely unaware that it would be the last time I’d fly for a really, really long time. It was winter, and I remember the cold air biting at my cheeks as I landed. I thought it would be a quick trip, a short escape—nothing more than a blip in my calendar.
But just a few days later, everything changed.
You know where this is going. You lived it too.
Suddenly, life hit pause. A global pandemic started tightening its grip, and within what felt like minutes, our world became unrecognizable. The quiet settled in, first subtly—empty shelves, murmurs of lockdowns—and then all at once. Borders closed. Cities shut down. And the phrase “stay at home” became a collective anthem for survival.
I put together this video as a time capsule of that strange, surreal, and strangely beautiful year. You can watch it below:
I didn’t plan to document the pandemic when it started. Honestly, I don’t think any of us had the energy or the perspective at the time. We were just trying to get through the day. But slowly, as days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, I started noticing the little things that kept me grounded.
For me, the park became that anchor.
In a year where everything was uncertain—where plans got canceled, flights grounded, and days blurred together—parks were there. Every. Single. Day.
They were never closed. They didn’t ask for a test or a mask (though we wore one anyway). They didn’t judge our sweatpants or our unwashed hair. They just existed. Constant. Steady. Familiar.
We picnicked on blankets six feet apart. We celebrated birthdays in the grass, with takeout cupcakes and phone calls on speaker. We laughed at our dogs chasing squirrels. We let our kids run free in the open air when the indoors felt too small.
We watched the seasons change in real time. Winter turned to spring, and we noticed. We really noticed.
Because when you’re moving slower, everything becomes sharper. Every crocus blooming, every new leaf unfurling, every warm breeze feels like a miracle when the world is hurting.
The video walks through that year. From early lockdown and empty streets, to the rise of loungewear and sourdough starters, to the bittersweet hope of summer travel with masks tucked into every bag. It’s not just a montage—it’s a story. One of change, loss, gratitude, and unexpected resilience.
We worked out in our living rooms, danced in our kitchens, and cooked… oh, did we cook.
And yes, at least one birthday happened under lockdown. Probably more.
We found joy in the tiniest things—sunsets from the window, coffee in bed, FaceTimes that turned into therapy sessions, rainstorms we could actually stop and listen to. We learned to be in our homes, even when we wanted to run from them. We grieved what we lost, and we celebrated what we still had.
This year made me realize how human we all are. And how much better we can be when we actually try.
I’m thankful for the researchers who worked tirelessly to create vaccines. For the healthcare workers who didn’t get to stay home while we clapped for them from our balconies. For the essential workers who showed up every single day so we could have food, water, electricity, and medicine.
I’m thankful for people like you, who watched the video, who stayed home when it mattered, who wore a mask even when it was uncomfortable. Who checked in on friends and strangers. Who showed up online with empathy, vulnerability, and humor.
This is not just a look back—it’s a gentle reminder of what we’ve been through and how we got through it. Together.
And as life continues to shift and we find ourselves in a new kind of normal, I hope we don’t forget the quiet magic of those park days, those long walks, those slow mornings. They saved us more than we know.
Thanks for being here. And if this resonated with you, I’d love to hear your pandemic rituals—what kept you grounded? What unexpected thing helped you the most?
Let’s talk in the comments 💬
See you in the next one.
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