Frames + Tracks, 2020 Edition
January 1st, 2020 began with someone smashing my car window and taking everything that was inside while I lapped the park with my dog. I was absolutely leveled with a virus that landed me in bed for the better part of a week and a cough that persisted for almost a month.
That was just the beginning. (And no, the virus wasn’t COVID-19.)
* * *
I’ve had an executive coach on and off for a couple years. During our recent sessions he’s solicited feedback in the form of “frames” — standout memories of embodied experiences. Initially this felt like psychology mumble jumble to me. Ironically, once I started to process different experiences vis-à-vis this method I couldn’t stop seeing “frames.”
When I zoom out to get perspective on 2020, the below frames come to mind. I’ve paired these with tracks from my Spotify-generated “Top Songs 2020” playlist. As I’ve listened to this playlist over the last few weeks, I’ve discovered that different songs (auditory cues) trigger strikingly clear memories. To memorialize the year, here’s a collection of frames and tracks for the wild ride that was 2020.
February
I am leaving my therapist’s office. We just had a talk about “tasting the strawberry.” I am processing the idea that we can enhance our experience of life by being more present to the small tastes of deliciousness and delight. This is a theme that comes up again in the Yale class I complete in April. Suddenly, it’s December and I am savoring the shit out of the holiday season. Festive snacks, sequined slippers, the prettiest presents, and cheerful Christmas activities done with intention and a newly acquired ability to slow down and savor them. It’s magical. I think to myself that I haven’t had a holiday as happy as this one since I was a child.
🎵 Track: Get Together, by The Youngbloods
February
I am sitting under a lemon tree at my office, hosting Friday 1:1’s al fresco. I’ve finally found a good structure for the responsibilities of managing people. I have bulleted lists for each person, I make notes during the conversations, and I send out recaps after each session. After years of feeling (and being?) incompetent at leadership, I have at least figured out how to structure my weekly feedback sessions in a way that is working.
🎵 Track: I Can See Clearly Now, by Jimmy Cliff
February
I am at Esalen, attending a weekend workshop on “Clearing The Way for A New Life After a Broken Heart” because it’s been eight months but sometimes I am barely able to co-exist with the pain. I am also shooting myself full of fertility drugs which make me very tired. So here I am, falling asleep during Nancy Levin’s evening visualization because the shots have made me exhausted. I’m sure this is offensive to the moderator, but I am physically at my limit. I can’t stay awake.
🎵 Track: Fallingwater, by Maggie Rogers
March
I am in the recovery room at UCSF. I just woke up from my egg freezing procedure and the first thing I ask for is my phone. As the anesthesiologist (the husband of an investor I met with not too long before) drops by to inform me that he had to use about triple the weight-based dosage of sedative to get me out, I am anxiously checking my Silicon Valley Bank account to see if a wire has arrived from my VCs. Literally I am about to miss payroll for the 6th or 7th time and the stress of this is just miserable. Of course I need excessive drugs to go lights out; a CEO about to miss payroll is one of the cruelest forms of torture that I’ve had to repeatedly face on this entrepreneurial marathon. Nothing makes me feel like a failure like these moments, so here I am, freshly out of the OR, extremely angry with the juxtaposition of life. Why does it all feel so difficult?
🎵 Track: The Greatest, by Sia (← my hymn during every shot I gave myself)
March
I am in the condo of one of the owners of the SF Giants. He has just signed the contract for my company to stage his spare place for sale. He is writing me a check. I am feeling what it’s like to be leveling up. (A week later, his realtor calls me to pull out of the contract because of COVID-19.)
🎵 Track: All Things, by Betty Who
April
I am lonely, I am walking the dog, and I am randomly waving to a dude I see working in a window. We begin a series of sidewalk chats that turn into neighborhood strolls and a summer of homemade croissants, cakes and pizza.
🎵 Track: Lovely Day, by Bill Withers
May
I am dancing in the living room at 10pm in a sports bra and shorts so short that I shouldn’t be allowed to own them. I remember what it’s like to let my mind process music as choreography. I let my body follow the intuition of my mind. It’s an exercise in freedom, expression, and self-soothing. It feels like the world is about to break, but I will not break. I will dance.
🎵 Track: Call My Name, by I’m With Her
June
I am laying in bed, on the phone with dad, listening to a helicopter fly above my parents house. Minneapolis is a mess and it’s getting ugly all over the country. I’m horrified by what’s happening in my twitter feed. The National Guard is shooting rubber bullets at people. Protesters are burning the police station. I learn that one of the four officers on the scene of George Floyd’s horrific killing used to work at the neighborhood bar 5 blocks from my house. The same place that I hosted my parents anniversary brunch. The place I grew up is on the front page of every newspaper across the country and it’s not a good look. I’m struggling with the reality that my home state is a racist and unequal place. Perhaps even my own family could do a lot better. Perhaps I could do better. This combination of quarantine plus race-rioting feels more dystopian by the day.
🎵 Track: He Got Hame, by Public Enemy
July
I am in the United club in Denver eating packaged snacks, drinking seltzer with lime, wearing my favorite outfit, feeling very adultish for agreeing to a five-day date with someone I’ve never met before. I’m energized from all of the Rocky Mountain air.
🎵 Track: Now I’m In It, by HAIM
July
I am climbing Lassen Peak. I fly up the still snow-covered mountain. Crushed it. Selfie. Thank god I have Diamox because it’s pretty high up here (10,457 feet) and everyone I pass on the way down looks like they aren’t getting enough oxygen. Later, I trip and fall on a flat and easy trail. The blood is a badge of my toughness. Mud, cuts and sunburn are my summer uniform.
🎵 Track: Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’, by Journey
July
I am fly fishing in Upper Klamath Lake and there are a shit ton of bugs — like clouds of midges in my face (where is the plastic face shield when I need it?!) but it doesn’t even matter because I am manifesting my vision of being a trout fishing goddess.
🎵 Track: Dreams, by Fleetwood Mac
August
I am in a hardware store in Utah buying PVC pipe at 9pm to hack together some trekking poles for my hike through the Narrows. I am in awe of what can be purchased at the gun counter of a hardware store in Hurricane.
🎵 Track: Gold on the Ceiling, by The Black Keys
August
I am recording a podcast, trying to sound honest, brave and articulate, choking back tears — wrapping my mind around how fragile my heart really is — and chiding myself for how terrible I must sound. Then I am in a Trader Joe’s parking lot, listening to the produced version of the podcast realizing that I don’t sound terrible at all and reminding myself that the self-criticism is such a waste of energy.
🎵 Track: Proud, by Heather Small
September
I am curled up in a ball, sobbing in bed, trying to find my way through the dark tunnel that is the loss of love, home, and life partner at an age when many of my peers are growing their families. At least my monogrammed organic cotton sheets feel luxurious in these shitty moments of sadness that envelope me again. Once a month, I ask my therapist if I need anti-depressants. Once a month I pay $200 to hear him tell me that this is a “situationally appropriate” grief. The week that would be my 6th anniversary I am so bereaved that I call my mom and ask her to come stay with me. Now she is holding me while I sob. I have alternating thoughts of, “a 34-year old shouldn’t need their mom to hold them like this” and “I am so glad my mom is here.”
🎵 Track: Learning to Fly, by Kate Earl
October
I am in the Volvo dealership, dishing about my dating life with David the 60-year old salesman. We become friends. On one occasion he asks me if I’m hungry and then gives me the protein bar from his lunch bag. He hooks me up with a new SUV. I take the car to Tahoe in an epic winter storm. I install $400 roof rails so it looks sporty. I know that this car is going to be a spiritual partner to me as I adventure into the next phase of life. Cars, houses, and material purchases don’t make us happy in the long-run, but every time I’m behind the wheel of my new XC40 Momentum, I can’t help but feel like I’m exactly where I should be. I feel zero guilt over this purchase.
🎵 Track: Who Are You, by The Who
October
I am asking people over 55 what their favorite old songs are. I’m a nervous wreck before the election and if I read too much news, I become ever-more convinced that our country is about to break out into civil war. I spiral into the past, trying to connect with previous moments of difficulty in America. Everyone I interview tells me about the late 60’s. I go down a rabbit hole of Woodstock and oldies music. I summarize my efforts in this playlist, which I title “the next phase.” It’s a nod to where I hope the US is heading, and a prayer that I can get pulled towards better times right along with it. Rising tides lift all boats and I’d love to catch a wave.
🎵 Track: Everyday People, by Sly & The Family Stone
November
I am soaking up the afternoon sun, desperately seeking a distraction from the loop of election returns. The tv networks are replaying the same analysis on repeat and it’s still uncertain that Biden is going to claim the race. I’m finally living the PTSD of November 2016 and ice cream is my analgesic. Once a day, I force myself to drive somewhere scenic to take a walk.
🎵 Track: Night Fever, by Bee Gees
December
I am sitting on a plane with my face covered, dog in my lap, watching orange “de-ice” chemicals coat the airplane that’s shuttling me from Minneapolis to San Francisco. I’m still wrestling with the reality that this trip home might make someone dangerously ill. This was a wild year. That the times it sucked, it sucked so fucking badly. I have been humbled with the perspective that only a pandemic could have provided. I must write this down. It’s going to be helpful to return to this in another year or decade and remember what it felt like to wade through so much uncertainty and emerge with a sense of optimistic acceptance that what’s next is surely to be even better.
🎵 Track: Rhiannon, by Fleetwood Mac