Christmas 2021 is almost here, and to the shock of no one, I’ve done a terrible job of sending out Christmas cards — never mind my annual and rarely achieved aspiration to send out one of those here’s-what’s-new-with-our-family letters. This year’s highlights include no school officials calling me because they’ve mistaken my older son’s wire-and-cardboard engineering project for a pipe bomb; my younger son joining the school-bus safety patrol and breaking up a notorious Pokemon card-smuggling ring, and no member of my family succumbing to lasting clinical depression because of the performance of the New York Jets. Oh, and on certain episodes of The Editors podcast, you probably heard the background noise of the Geraghty kitchen being redone, with construction work conducted at the sort of noise volume usually associated with above-ground nuclear testing. Considering the price of lumber this year, we probably should have remodeled our kitchen using cheaper materials, like platinum. (Let’s just say 2021 has been a rebuilding year on my end.)
But I figure if I can share with all of you, I can at least say I’ve kept in touch with a lot of the folks who matter most, when it comes to what I get up and do each morning.
I hope this message finds you well, and healthy, and prospering, or at least getting along, and if none of those things, then I hope you’re not being forced to sell one of your kidneys on the black market to fill up your tank with unleaded.
This past year has brought its share of triumphs — we’ve now got vaccines, schools are generally open again, and job openings are plentiful, American society is much more open than it was at the end of 2020, and cultural woke-ism has suffered some serious defeats. But 2021 also brought more than its share of setbacks — the Taliban is running Afghanistan again, your grocery bill is probably way higher than it was at the start of the year, there’s a labor shortage, those cargo ships are still sailing around in circles off the ports of California, and nearly a year into his presidency, Joe Biden still thinks “Come on, man!” is a compelling counter-argument to any criticism.
The year ahead looks . . . more than a little ominous. Beijing hosts the Genocide Games this February, and then we’ll see if China’s recent saber-rattling over Taiwan is foreshadowing a serious conflict. Vladimir Putin sounds like he wants to “borrow” parts of Ukraine again. As of this writing, Build Back Better appears dead, but congressional Democrats will be desperate to get some version of a massive spending bill passed. If we’re lucky and work hard, the midterm elections will send a resounding message to Biden, Kamala Harris, Jen Psaki, Nancy Pelosi, Chuck Schumer, and everyone else in Washington who has arrogantly ignored the public’s concerns for the past year.
As much as life feels like it’s stuck on fast-forward, I’m glad to be in the news business and thankful for my colleagues at National Review. In 2022, I know I’m going to want to hear from John McCormack and Phil Klein on what’s going on in Washington. I’m going to want to enjoy every serving of the biting wit of Charlie Cooke, Kevin Williamson, and Kyle Smith. I’m going to want to hear what Andrew Stuttaford, David Bahnsen, Dominic Pino, and the Capital Matters gang think of the state of the economy. And I’m going to be devouring the offerings of Therese Shaheen, Jimmy Quinn, and Jay Nordlinger on the multifaceted challenge of Communist China. And I hope, along the way, you’ll continue (or begin to!) start your day with the Morning Jolt.
As I understand it, the suits at NR are offering some sort of gift sale that looks like a typo has set prices too low, but I’m just keeping my head down and not asking any questions. If Biden’s supply chains have you scrambling for a gift, I’d lock in the deal before anybody notices the terrible pricing mistake.
We are blessed to have readers and supporters like you, and I thank you for your continued support, through thick and thin, through good times and bad. And I hope 2022 brings you nothing but good times. Lord knows, you’ve earned them.