Almost two weeks ago, I went back to Six Flags Magic Mountain to get my second shot of the COVID-19 vaccine.
I've never had to travel so far—or work so hard—to get vaccinated for anything before.
And I'm still marveling at the historical significance of it all.
I still can't quite believe what we've all been through over the last year (and then some).
And I can't quite wrap my head around the idea that it might be kinda sorta maybe over-ish soon.
As we start to look at the pandemic in the rear view, I can't help but wonder: What's next?
Not what's my next adventure—but what's the next plague? The next act of war? The next violent attack?
Because life doesn't seem to get better.
It's not necessarily that it gets worse. It's just that history repeats itself.
And I've already got enough PTSD to last a lifetime.
I'm not sure how much more trauma I can take.
I've fared pretty well during this pandemic. I don't think I would've if I'd gotten sick.
So, I guess I'm relieved to have some protection on my side—for however long it lasts.
I know that my second shot may not be my last shot. I may need a booster in a few months, a year, a few years.
I may need to get a little better with needles.
I may need to take care of myself a little better.
But I'm used to surviving times of adversity. It kind of feels like I was built for it.
On Monday, I'll be as immune as I can be after my vaccination—and, in many ways, I can go back to "normal."
If I want to.
At least now, I'll have somewhat of a choice.
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