Better late than never

I've been doing a lot of complaining about 2021. It's kind of funny, because last year I gave complaining everything I had, and I really thought I had nothing left to give. Turns out 2020 was just a training ground. I was only warming up.

In my grumpiness this year, I forgot about gratitude. You're meant to do gratitude at Christmas, everyone knows. I realised this afternoon that, like buying wine, I'd left it to the last minute. Now I've got two reasons to panic.

But I am grateful, I promise.

For Tāmaki Makaurau, doing more than 100 days to buy us all time.

For the people who, during level 4, gave up the chance to be with dying loved ones, and to farewell them. You sacrificed more than the rest of us can imagine. We won't forget.

For the businesses who followed the rules, even though their year was already hard, to keep us safe. And even more, for their frontline workers, who we applauded last year and swore at in this one.

For our whānau overseas who wanted to be here, had hoped to be, but aren't yet.

For the decision makers who took decisions, even wrong ones, in a world where expressing hate for leaders only requires a phone - because there is nothing more tempting or more dangerous than standing still.

For the contact tracers who will forgo contact with the ones they love tomorrow, and for the MIQ workers who'll deliver Christmas dinners to others as they miss their own.

This year, the things that deserve our gratitude are less sparkly and light hearted and fun. That's what make them more important. Meri Kirihimete, one and all.