What a year. Who knew, when we began it with some wonderful indoor figure drawing sessions and spa nights and acroyoga classes (no open windows! no masks!), what 2020 had in store for us.

In January we were balancing on each other’s feet–

On Valentine’s Day we paired up for an intimate massage lesson–

In early March we had one gorgeous warm day when we went out to the park amidst a few thousand of our closest friends–

And then 2020 hit.

The lockdowns, the quarantines, the masks, the warnings, the fear and the deaths. For months none of us met one another — not just for our usual events, but at all. We stayed in, or if we went out, it was only for snatched instants in private, on a roof–

–or in some isolated spot in the country.

As the year wore on and summer followed spring, we cautiously met — outdoors only, our vocabularies expanded by awkward new phrases like “social distancing” and our faces covered when social distancing wasn’t possible.

We took refuge in the northern reaches of Manhattan, where we could be alone together, members of separate households separated by the necessary 6 feet, but at least not utterly separate.

We did our best to carry on summer traditions, but in necessarily modified form.

When summer’s end brought with it the option of dining outdoors, we did that too — carefully, always, but hungry for the company of friends and loved ones as much as for the food.

In all this time, not one person got sick at or from one of our events. That’s how careful we were, and how lucky we were.

We’re grateful for that, for our own health and for preserving each other’s. And it’s not as though we didn’t have any fun this year. We managed to mine some genuine fragments of joy from the granite walls of our isolation. We made some new friends we think will be part of the family for years to come.

But we won’t be sorry to see 2020 in the rear-view mirror.

Let us take this moment to wish you the warmest, healthiest and happiest of new years. May 2021 be everything 2020 wasn’t, and very little of what it was.

Even if some of what it was was, for a stolen moment or two, quite achingly lovely.