Calendars are convenient. They give us a reference point to anchor to, handy for finding our spot in the spiraling whirlpool of time. Truth is, beyond the repeating patterns of weather and our own seasonal habits, every day, week, and month is different from the one bearing the same name last year.
And by the same logic, it is convenient to label a day, week, or year as “good” or “bad” because of the frequency of negative events and our capacity to handle them. Labeling a year “bad” helps us feel less of a burden of making it better. It takes us closer to the comfort of clearly categorized, black and white lens on reality.
I’m not saying that wanting comfort and clarity is wrong. It’s natural. But it also carries the danger of subjectivity and bias, which may not be ideal when you are trying to be an objective observer of the world around you. And it tends to lean towards negativity.
Memories of Copenhagen, sketching during one of many zoom work meetings
So it’s not surprising to me to see 2021 being labeled as yet another “bad year.” It was probably a little bit of a self-inflicted failure of expectation management - after 2020, we were all hoping for something better. And I think those who expected a “return to normal” were let down the most.
I did not expect a return to normal. It could be that my own life experiences have primed me to have low expectations as a guardrail against disappointment, and then be pleasantly surprised when they are exceeded. There are some questionable mental coping habits there, but we will leave it alone for now. My point is that I don’t think 2021 was a “bad year.” I am quite happy with how it turned out.
And so, here’s 2021.
In January, I pass my seventh and last Architect exam, the California Supplemental Examination (CSE). After a “long and winding road” to this moment, it feels surreal. The night before, the kids, Erik and I agree that if I pass, we will have sushi to celebrate. And if I fail, we will have consolation sushi. Thus the slogan “Do it for the sushi!” Is born.
Earlier in the month, the U.S. experiences a violent attack on the Capitol. It is most definitely the lowest point of this country since I moved here in 2003.
…
February
The main highlight for me is getting my Architect’s license in the mail. So much work, persistence, failure and success is wrapped up in this moment! As it goes with goals that are achieved, I almost instantly begin asking myself the question: “What’s next?”
What’s next is sparkSTUDIO. I hang on to the day job for a few more months of the pandemic but I have already boarded the train to Bosstown.
I immediately begin looking for opportunities to use my shiny new title of Architect on email signatures…and not much else. My answer to “What do you do?” becomes a little easier for me (because the law prohibits using the title of Architect unless you are licensed), and pretty much nobody else gives it a second thought. Wait, you’re doing the same thing you’ve been doing but now you have another paper on the wall? That’s cool.
Nevertheless, I feel like I’ve been knighted. I suspect newly minted Sirs and Ladies add their titles to email signatures at the first opportunity, too.
March
March is rather low key, other than marking the anniversary of the first Covid lockdowns in California. I manage to do some sketching while in Old Sacramento…(need to work on my car and truck drawing skills!).
April
April brings Katia’s birthday, a lovely family trip to the Pacific Ocean and our stay at the whimsical Mushroom House in Bolinas, where we are the first short term rental guests. It’s great to be next to the ocean for a bit, and see it from almost every window of the house. Such a treat! Armed with a recent Ian Stewart workshop experience, I sketch it in water-soluble markers and watercolor and leave the painting as a gift for the hosts. We hope to return next year!
May
I’m not even sure what happens in May. Work, worry, rinse, repeat. That, and planning a trip to Colorado.
…Which happens in June!
Erik and I go to Denver, Colorado, which is only a stopping point on the way to Estes Park in the Rocky Mountains. And Estes Park is where we find The Stanley Hotel (cue in dramatic music and thunder). The Stanley is significant because it’s the inspiration and setting of Stephen King’s The Shining. And that fact is significant, in turn, because my beau is a major horror movie nerd and this trip is a celebration of his birthday. Last year, we visited Ferndale, the filming location for another Stephen King’s creation, Salem’s Lot.
Colorado is beautiful. We take the winding road to the mountains in our white rental Camry, a feat impossible during the winter. As we get closer and closer to our destination, every turn opens a spectacular view of the mountains and forests, layered with fog and clouds, illuminated by patches of sun, dusted with faraway snow. It’s a lot easier for me to get excited by architecture than nature, but I am definitely getting into it!
The white structure of The Stanley Hotel stands out on the rocky hill it sits on, against the backdrop of undeveloped mountainside. We can see it from far away, at the very beginning of our descent in the valley of the small town of Estes Park. The hotel greets us with a wide porch I will later have breakfast on, a grand carpeted stair with gold-framed portraits following us as we walk up the second floor, and a glorious mountain view.
I am disappointed at the absence of a freestanding tub in our room. It was promised to me by the hotel’s website…and they forgot to mention that the hotel’s bathrooms were recently remodeled to replace the tubs with showers. First-world problems, I know, but I was really looking forward to relaxing in a tub filled with hot water….Not warm-ish shower with cold air leaks.
I suppose I will recover. We rest for a bit and then go to explore dinner options in town. The whole town of Estes Park can be seen from our high vantage point of the second floor room at The Stanley. It unfolds for us to go and learn about its streets and old buildings, its tourist attractions and hidden treasures. This is my favorite part of traveling. The unknown, soon to be known and loved.
We head downstairs, past the gold-framed portraits and their watchful eyes, out of the red-carpeted lobby now filling up with loud tourists. Erik says we need to go walk the shrubbery maze in the front of the hotel “real quick.” I’m starving, but I follow him across the muddy puddles through the maze, in the light drizzling rain. He is, of course, recreating The Shining, walking through the maze and then retracing his steps, like a giddy kid.
We walk into a small open space with a pond and sculptural water feature of two faces…possibly kissing. We walk up the platform at the top and look over the grounds.
“This is a cool place!” I say.
“Yes. A perfect place, in fact, to ask you something,” he says, and reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket.
I feel an odd mixture of panic and excitement as I begin to suspect what is about to happen.
“Whaaaat is happening right now?”
And what is happening is him pulling out a small box with a ring in it and asking me to marry him and me being completely unprepared for this and forgetting to breathe for a minute and then saying yes, of course yes, as I put my arms around him and kiss him, right in front of that water feature.
And I kid you not, while all of this is happening, the rain clears up and a double rainbow appears above Estes Park.
July
In July, I and the rest of my coworkers are ordered back to the office - the email from the firm management actually says “back to work,” which strikes me as incredibly tone deaf. Have I been not working the last year and a half, then? It didn’t feel like it. It felt like working double time, all the time.
I am not going back without a fight though. Work from home has become my default method and, while it has its own challenges (I don’t have a separate room to work in - but that’s not any different from working in an open office back at the office), those challenges are eclipsed by the benefits. The commute, generally a complete waste of an hour of my life every day, has become unnecessary, unless I choose to do it. And choice - in time, location, priorities, environment - has become the key word. Why would you give up choice?
In August, sparkSTUDIO wins an award for our housing design - an unexpected but very welcome validation of our work, something we still do after hours and behind the scenes of our day jobs. My son turns 12. Wildfires are back.
September is…eventful. I turn 40, and Erik and I celebrate with a long weekend visit to San Francisco. I geek out on public transportation, architecture and art. We walk the Golden Gate Bridge and that same evening, I have my first ever clam chowder in a bread bowl. San Francisco seems oddly quiet and disheveled …It is still the pandemic. But no matter, I walk around like a wide-eyed child, absorbing the best of the old and the new architecture that the city has to offer.
We spend the whole day at SFMOMA, where I am floored by the exhibit featuring the work of Tatiana Bilbao, a Mexican architect whose focus on affordable housing is both admirable and inspiring. She can’t draw cars either.
Right after my birthday, I sit down with my boss and tell him I am leaving to focus on my own firm. I offer to continue my current projects on a contract basis and we work out an agreement to do so. Two weeks later, I am officially no longer an employee.
And so, in October, after a very short lull, I get to business full throttle. It feels like the the best decision ever, even though I pulled the trigger a few months earlier than I had originally planned. Even though the world is still in the midst of the Covid crisis. I am loving every minute of building sparkSTUDIO and am proud of us.
I give a short talk about our award-winning housing project at a remote award ceremony for the local chapter of the American Institute of Architects. Erik and I go to an in-person, live music show, first time in forever. It feels incredible.
November brings more birthdays, an actual, in-person Thanksgiving, and finally cooler weather. I settle down with some knitting in the evenings, which has become my favorite winter wind-down activity.
Which brings us to…December. The Christmas tree goes up, the rains come, and we slow down for the winter break. This year, it looks different for me, because I get to say when I need to work and when I can take time away from work. It’s a double-edged sword, of course, as I don’t necessarily get paid vacation time. But I have the choice, which matters so much more.
Re-reading my summary of 2020, I remember the feeling of overwhelm by the barrage of negative events and oversaturation by the dark energy that seemed to fill the very air we breathed. Earlier this year, I caught myself getting sucked into the vortex of this darkness and overwhelm. And when I did, I had to pull the plug and step away.
So this year, the focus has been much closer to home, on the things I can control or at least influence. I have very limited resources to worry about much more than that.