Many writers have been attempting to sum up 2020, wrapping it in commentary of either sadness for our nation’s health and soul, or gratitude for our survival in the hardest of times. But I’m not going to try to do that.

I usually spend the last week of December reflecting on the previous year and building goals, habits and routines for the next. But I haven’t done that this year.

Even though I’m not a New Year’s Eve celebrator, I usually wake on New Year’s Day feeling excited for the goals I’ve set and the opportunities that might come my way. But I don’t feel that way this year.

To me, this New Year’s feels like a way station and nothing else. Everything that began in 2020 is still with us. The virus is still here. Our health and safety is still threatened. Many of us still need to work and shelter in the same place. We can’t hug people we love. We can’t travel where we want to go. Our racial tension is stronger than ever. Everyone is suffering under four years of a president who lacked empathy. The winter is dark.

The gifts that we received in 2020 are also still with us. Resilience. Patience. A stronger connection with nature. Rituals involving our at-home families. Time to pursue hobbies. A greater awareness of our interconnectedness. A surge of passion for change and the actions– protesting, voting, self-educating– to promote it. 2020 has shown us all of our deepest divides, yet has also brought us closer together.

I had cancer for three and a half years. I wasn’t able to process any of the things it brought me– the pain, the loss of innocence, but also the resilience and passion for life– until long after I received my clean bill of health. The clock may have turned to a new year, but it’s not time to reflect on the old year yet. That’s still to come.

So if you’re not in your usual year-end routines, if you’re not in your usual year-beginning spirit, it’s okay. Our year is ending in typical 2020 fashion– which is to say, not typical at all.