Five years.

It’s not a long time in the grand scheme of things – and yet, 2020 feels like a lifetime ago.

Five years ago, we were in tight lockdown – just beginning to wrap our heads around unfamiliar words like “pandemic,” “coronavirus,” and “social distancing.” At first, it felt manageable: a few weeks at home, some extra caution, new routines.

But then the weeks turned into months, and the world we knew slipped out of focus. We wiped down groceries, searched for toilet paper, and learned about N95 masks. I remember trying to project calm for my kids – then ages 9, 14, and 17 – while feeling overwhelmed and scared.

Five years later, the echoes of that disruption still shape our lives.

My youngest child, Tyler, is now a freshman in high school – the same age his older brother Matthew was when COVID hit. He’s trying out for the baseball team, playing in the jazz band after school, meeting friends at the mall.

Nothing extraordinary. Just normal teenage stuff.

But five years ago, all of that stopped.

Instead of sports practices, we hosted a makeshift field day on the front lawn. Instead of crowding around lab benches, science class came via Zoom. Friends sat six feet apart in the driveway. And I – to my family’s amusement and slight dismay – became the lunch lady, hairdresser, and dog groomer.

Watching Tyler embrace these ordinary moments now is a reminder of how extraordinary that pause was – and what so many missed: proms, science fairs, sports seasons, graduation ceremonies – and for some, even more heartbreaking losses.

Looking back, it all feels surreal – like we were living inside a dystopian movie we once would have dismissed as unrealistic. Did that really happen?

A Personal Timeline of Change

A lot has happened – in our home and beyond. In five years:

• My daughter graduated high school and college.
• My older son performed in a dozen theater shows and played countless hockey games.
• My younger son grew more than a foot and learned to play the saxophone.
• We lost my father. And my mother-in-law.
• I left IBM after 24 years there and began a new phase in my career.
• I’m stronger and healthier – thanks to better eating, strength training, and more balance in my life.

Through it all, I’m proud of the resilience my children have shown – how they’ve grown, adapted, and continued to discover who they are. I’m grateful for the positive changes we’ve embraced, and mindful of the losses and challenges we’re still working through. Like so many families, we’ve been shaped by this time – not defined by it, but undoubtedly changed.

How the World Has Changed

Outside our family bubble, the last five years have brought sweeping changes – some inspiring, others deeply unsettling.

In the wake of the pandemic, communities came together in remarkable ways. We saw frontline workers become everyday heroes. Scientists developed vaccines and treatments at breakneck speed. Manufacturers pivoted to produce and distribute protective equipment. Collaboration platforms scaled rapidly to meet unprecedented demand. And food delivery services – from Grubhub and DoorDash to Uber Eats and Instacart – expanded access, even in small suburban towns like ours.

Today, generative AI tools like ChatGPT are reshaping what’s possible in classrooms, offices, and creative fields alike. Technologies such as 3D printing, augmented reality, and autonomous vehicles have shifted from experimental to everyday. And wearable health tech solutions – from smartwatches to continuous glucose monitors – are helping people monitor, prevent, and manage illness in ways that felt like science fiction just a few years ago.

But alongside these leaps, some things have reverted to how they were before the pandemic – or worse.

Work-from-home – once hailed as a revolution – is being rolled back, often for the wrong reasons. Productivity soared, emissions dropped, and people discovered the value of more flexible work-life rhythms. But many companies have now imposed return-to-office mandates, prioritizing badge swipes over outcomes, presence over performance.

We’ve just experienced the hottest year on record with devastating wildfires, floods, and hurricanes. Sea levels are rising, and insurance companies are pulling out of at-risk zip codes. And yet, EPA protections are being rolled back, international climate commitments abandoned (again), and climate science sidelined – right when we need it most.

Meanwhile, public trust in science has eroded – and deep cuts to university research budgets and federal science programs threaten to dismantle America’s innovation ecosystem. Graduate admissions offers are being rescinded. Labs are pausing critical experiments. Faculty face hiring freezes and funding shortfalls. We risk losing not just our edge in discovery, but our ability to make evidence-based decisions in a world that desperately needs them.

Public health has taken a hit too – not just from long COVID, but from long-term policy reversals. The U.S. withdrew from the World Health Organization (WHO). We’ve seen the rollback of health regulations, massive cuts to NIH funding, and the resurgence of diseases we thought we’d left behind. Measles outbreaks in Texas. Vaccine skepticism on the rise. Myths that once lived on the fringe are now shaping public health policy.

And then there’s the dismantling of education and equity frameworks. The Department of Education is being hollowed out. The federal government is challenging free speech and academic autonomy on college campuses – most notably through recent actions involving Columbia University. Programs promoting diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) have been attacked or defunded, despite overwhelming evidence of the value of diverse teams and the persistent opportunity gaps they aim to address. LGBTQ+ rights and protections are being rolled back, threatening the safety, dignity, and visibility of millions.

At a glance, financial indicators look strong – the S&P 500 has doubled since 2020, and median household income is up. But so are wealth inequality, housing costs, and financial instability. IBM stock is up, Zoom is down, Tesla surged and then tumbled amid erratic policy moves. Egg prices hit a record high earlier this month after an avian flu outbreak. Tariffs and nationalist policies are reshaping how America engages with the rest of the world.

These aren’t just political headlines – they’re signals of who we choose to value and protect as a society, how our economy and businesses operate, and what kind of future we’re building – or unraveling.

Holding on to Hope

Somehow, we stayed hopeful during a global pandemic – when we were isolated and fearful for our health and our future. We adapted. We reached out to one another. We kept going.

But now – in a time that appears more “normal” on the surface – I’m finding it harder to hold onto that same sense of positivity.

Maybe it’s because, during COVID, we felt united by a common threat. There was fear, but also solidarity – a sense that we were all in it together.

Now, we feel more fragmented than ever. A community once bound by shared experience is splintered by deeper divisions and growing distrust.

The damage being done is real. Cuts to essential programs are eroding systems many Americans rely on. Those most vulnerable are being hurt. Alliances are straining. Global aid is retracting. Policies feel rushed and performative. Disruption is happening irresponsibly, breaking things that will not be easily fixed.

We need to remember that we’re not powerless – and we’re not alone.

• We can truly listen – not just to respond, but to understand.
• We can call out harmful behavior – and refuse to let it be normalized.
• We can stand up and speak out.

We’ve seen what resilience looks like. Now we need to show what responsibility looks like, too.

We also need things to look forward to – promises of joy, reminders of meaning, reasons to stay hopeful.

This year, I’m looking forward to small things and big ones. My daughter finishing graduate school and starting her first full-time teaching job. Matthew’s theater shows. Tyler’s baseball games. A low-key vacation with all three kids. Long walks with my dog. Coffee in the quiet. Reading books cover to cover. Broadway shows. Date nights with my husband. And maybe – just maybe – staying awake through an entire movie.

I’m also looking forward to the work ahead – giving talks, teaching classes, writing a book, and helping others navigate this moment with intention. I’m having thoughtful, energizing conversations with friends and colleagues about ways to help – how we can support those who are struggling, advocate for responsible innovation, and lead with empathy and purpose.

Looking Ahead

I’m inherently an optimist – someone who likes to see challenges as opportunities and pivots as progress. But I’ll admit – the recent barrage of setbacks is deeply troubling.

Still, if the last five years have taught me anything, it’s that change is both fast and slow.

Some transformations – like the shift to remote schooling during COVID or AI breakthroughs – happened almost overnight. Others – like healing from loss, adapting to new identities, or learning to live with uncertainty – are slow, personal, and ongoing. Some changes have had staying power; others have been more fleeting.

Progress doesn’t always follow a straight line – but it’s often driven by people who care enough to notice what’s broken and are brave enough to help fix it.

Here’s to the next five years – may we meet them with courage, curiosity, and compassion, inspired by the resilience of our children and the promise they carry forward – not just for their future, but for all of ours.