As the ball dropped in Times Square a year ago, I remember thinking, “This is going to be a good year.” What is more, “this is going to be Matt Lewis’s year.” (Yeah, I think about myself in the third person. What of it?)
To be fair, the bar was set pretty low. In the Twitter era, it has become commonplace to publicly trash the present (“What? Danny Aiello died?!? 2019 is the worst!”) on the assumption that the future will be better. But then 2020 showed up all hungover in January—laughing, belching, and muttering, “Hold my beer.”
Let’s be honest, this year was the worst. Nothing in my lifetime (thus far) can top the WE’RE IN A GLOBAL PANDEMIC card. Not only have we experienced plague and pestilence (and wildfires and riots), we’re ending the year by not getting to see friends and family over the holidays. At this point, some glass-half-full wiseacre will point out that good things are on the horizon. And yes, a vaccine is on the way in (and Donald Trump is on the way out), but not until 2021. Spin it all you want. There’s really no way to sugarcoat the shitstorm that has been 2020.