It’s November of a leap year. November of 2020, the year “Blursday” became a colloquialism. November: the month that turns us toward late fall. The days don’t grow shorter as much as they turn darker. Since mid-March, I’ve spent most of my time at home. Even so, I welcome the season’s encouragement to hunker inside or around a fire in my backyard.
It’s also an election year. Dualism dominates news and conversation. We’re either for or against, championing this or that. Duality is necessary. Ideas and values need to be distilled into categories in order to cast our votes.
But for me, the language of election season is difficult. I like the “or” space, the gray area between two things. It’s a place to slow down, and witness the nuances of moments that make up daily life. With so much going on this year, and big decisions being made, it’s hard to get to the “between” space that is my respite.
Thank goodness I can find those spaces elsewhere.
In the November issue, our authors find the friction, exhilaration, and tension in the gray. They show our everyday moments—from playing in the yard as kids to where we shop for groceries as adults. In these small spaces, they gently lead us to question, what is at cost?
I haven’t done much since the pandemic began, but Blursday is one marathon day after another. Most everyone I know is extra tired this year. For this reason, I look forward to winter, the season of dormancy, when activity naturally slows. Election season will be over. 2020 will come to a close. I’m hoping for a lot more gray space to fill my days. But if it doesn’t, I know where to find some.