This week I had a burst of executive functioning (something that has alluded me over this pandemic year) and began to prepare my 2020 business financial documents for my accountant to take a look at. Historically I’m quite good at keeping on top of financial matters, but this year’s Pandemic roller coaster kept me more with my hands in the air than on the lap bar in front of me. Like all of us I had to manage a fair amount of anxiety and a great deal of change. Adapting myself and my business to the rapidly moving present moment took priority over 941 deposits. When I looked at the calendar and noted the forthcoming end of year, I realized I had no clear idea what my balance sheet looked like for 2020. I grabbed a pot of tea and opened my shoebox.
January & February’s records were straightforward. Income is always strong during the first quarter. Early registrations, new members, annual subscriptions and student’s new year enthusiasm buoy my business and set the financial tone for the entire year. Expenses are straightforward too: rent, promotional materials, Chinese New Year decorations & food, plane tickets for guest workshop presenters and my own training, miscellaneous purchases. These first two months have always eased my small business owner anxiety, generating not just capital, but my own excitement for another year ahead doing what I love with people I enjoy.
March’s records began simply enough too, until I reached mid-month. A charge for Zoom showed up. Seeing the charge threw me back to the moment I packed up my computer from home, grabbed my Airpods and headed for the dojo. A wave of nausea set in as I recalled placing the computer on a chair to the side of the dojo, sticking an ear bud in my ear and began teaching both to students on the floor and to those in their homes. Seeing that charge hurled me back to the foreboding of that moment.
As I continued through my records of this year, the 2020 story of my business unfolded. The rest of March reminded me how much hand sanitizer and cleaning supplies I bought when we were still at our physical location. And then in April the charges to Zoom increased – we were all fully online at home. Frequent charges to Amazon came through for the experiments with better sound and light. Seeing each month’s rent receipts reminded me I kept hoping “it” would be “over” soon. Finally, those stopped and were replaced with receipts for my little blue wagon, table, hotspot, and Rode’s microphone for the summer hybrid classes. I remembered how I felt packing up the cart, rolling it across the park, masking up, simultaneously logging on and turning to the live students, “feel your feet.” And the charges for more masks, so many more masks, more hand sanitizer and wipes. As I slogged through those months I reached August and September. The receipts for a 50” TV from Costco, LED lights, an air purifier and a new lease for a 300’ foot room near the Zoo reminded me of where I am right now.
Looking through the expense side of the balance sheet gave me an opportunity to feel my trauma. Because I am one of the lucky ones: I’m still employed and relevant, I have a home and too much food in the pantry, I am warm and loved, I never dared allow myself to believe I could also have been traumatized by this year. And yet, reviewing the financial records and their memories, I have to accept I was. With no warning, my friends and community went from flesh and blood, from laughter and stories, from our future plans together, to thumbnails, the mute button and the great unknown. People I expected to see, trainings I expected to have, vanished. People I knew died. I teach now in a small room, alone. It has been its own a death in a way. And I’ve been so busy adapting my work I hadn’t really taken the time to feel the grief. Reviewing my records gave me that chance.
At the same time, my records also revealed the miraculous that 2020 has brought into my life. Because most all registrations were online, I was able to scroll through hundreds of names and their class payments. I recall logging in that first class when we were fully online and seeing so many smiling faces. Many payments are from students who had moved or people who live in other countries. I now see them on a regular basis. I also scrolled through the numerous and generous donations students made to keep the Moon and its inhabitants afloat. I was again deeply moved by each person’s compassion and insight. I also saw the names of people who made their annual registration in late 2019 and early 2020, but chose not to join online this year; I haven’t seen them but they never took me up on my offer to refund their money. I saw the PPP deposit in Spring and remembered how fortunate I felt as many of my other colleagues did not get any.
I also saw unique expenses I would never have seen had it not been for the pandemic year of 2020. I may not have gotten on an airplane, but I have travelled to South America, Australia and Bulgaria for classes. I have no doubt I learned more than I would have and met people I never would have, had this year not happened in the way it did. Finally, I saw charges that should not have been on my business charge card at all, but ended up there. They were to several garden stores through these months. I will always remember each class from home I taught or took, looking out at tulips, dahlia’s, hummingbirds and my cat romping. I witnessed each season of our pandemic year morph into the next from my own garden sanctuary.
In the midst of my record organizing I received an email from a student. She shared with me how much the classes have meant to her this year. I responded in kind and then moved the email to a file I created last March called “Covid Communications.” I feel someday I’ll want to remember this time and what we all said to each other. Lately I’ve been feeling the intimacy our shared trauma and the unique ways we’ve adapted our connections have allowed many of us to get to know each other more deeply than we may otherwise have. For me I feel what we may have lost in person, perhaps we have gained online.
In the end, it’s looking like my business like did alright. And not just because of this, I will always consider myself one of the lucky ones, the ones who are among the most fortunate this year. I will say I experienced trauma, but I will never say I suffered. On the contrary, I will remember this year as the year I experienced the grace and generosity of so many amazing people and the wholly sustainable and adaptable essence of our practice.
Wishing you all well this holiday season. Stay well, adaptable and loving.
Thank you for being a part of my year and my life.
Respect, Salute, 10,000 Thank you’s.
Kimberly Ivy
Founder, Embrace The Moon School for Taijiquan and Qigong
Est. 1995