Dear 2020 — A Letter to the Year of Unmet Expectations

Photo by NORTHFOLK on Unsplash

Dear 2020,

How are you doing?

Not so well, I presume.

I’ve been hearing about you in the news, social media and through conversations with friends.

I see evidence of your most unfortunate experiences everywhere I look. Hand sanitisers galore, people’s faces half-covered and minimal public displays of affection. I can’t say I’m complaining about that last one.

Come to think of it — if, God-forbid, I were to witness a crime, how would I pick the perpetrator’s face in a line-up? Every person has their most distinguishing features covered by a cloth held with elastic! Not hating on face masks at all, they’re saving lives from this deadly virus that has travelled the world.

You know the virus I’m talking about, right? Surely you do! For it’s the very thing by which future years will remember you.

I see it now — “2020. The Year of the Coronavirus.”

Okay, I’ll try to give you the benefit of the doubt. After all, nobody wants to be known for their greatest flaw. You included.

I’ll admit though, I had high hopes for you.

You were an opportunity to say goodbye to the trying year that was 2019. Maybe 2020 will cut me some slack, I thought. No such luck.

You were a chance for me to put on the coat of new beginnings. Instead, you stripped me right to the core.

What do you have to say for yourself? What’s your line of defence? Or will you accept your tagline as “The Year of Unmet Expectations”?

That’s right, I speak in taglines now. Don’t test me further or you’ll be subject to a few more choice taglines!

As I write this, I feel convicted. Maybe I’m judging you too harshly. I’ve been glancing at your cover rather than reading the pages within.

As I turn your pages, I see hope.

2020, I see it in you.

Goodness, I haven’t seen your response yet and I’m already going soft on you!

Enough about you. Let’s talk about me.

Your first six months didn’t look too promising for me. The physical and emotional pain was almost unbearable. Thinking about the future was unimaginable.

All I could do was walk (more like crawl) through it hour by hour, day by day.

Then, in a moment that seemed as instant as the flick of a switch, you revealed different colours to me.

You showed me that I had the strength to see you through.

You showed me that the end of one story meant the beginning of another.

You showed me a way forward.

So, 2020. I’ve come to realise you’re not all bad.

You still have three months left. What will you do with a second chance?

Not quite yours,


Freelance Writer — Phrased with Purpose I write to share my story, your story, our stories, with the world. Website:

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