Right now, I’m in the minority.

On March 31, I finished something which seemed like it would never happen at the start of 2021. That was the day I received my second shot of the COVID-19 vaccine. For the record, I’m on Team Pfizer, but that’s rather irrelevant.

According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, I’m just one of 89,245,776 people in the U.S. - or 26.9 percent of the entire population - to have finished getting those “shots in the arm”, as of April 23rd. Thank goodness I hit the “O” key for “shots” instead of the “I”. That’s something vastly different.

The CDC also says you’re considered “fully vaccinated” once you’re two weeks past that second - or, in the case of Johnson & Johnson’s vaccine, only - shot. Well, let’s check that box off, too.

So, Horne. You’re fully vaccinated. Now what?

Someone I know asked me excitedly “How does it feel?” Being honest with them, I didn’t have a good answer for that question. What’s done has been done. It wasn’t like I suddenly developed superhero powers or won the grand prize on some weird game show. Couldn’t you see Bob Barker hosting “The Vaccine Is Right”?

In fact, I probably had the hardest reactions among those I know to both doses. The first one on March 10th went alright. About six hours later, I got a little flipping in my stomach, but nothing too bad. Then, the next morning came - and I unfortunately knew what the next 90 minutes felt like. My head was scrambled, I staggered out of bed, my body felt as if it was slammed against the wall. Anyone who’s ever had a massive hangover will never forget that feeling and this is exactly how my body took to the first dose of the Pfizer vaccine.

My second dose was three weeks later and I said “Come hell or high water, I’ll get through this one.” Well, I got it at the same time of day as my first dose - around 11:15 a.m. This time, the effects slowly creeped up and my body was getting more and more weighted down as my work shift progressed. My actions were knocked down a gear and there was a sense a vest lined with lead was being slipped over my torso. Yet, I did make it through the night at the office and had a wonderful night’s sleep. By the next morning, I felt like … well, not a million bucks, but at least $10,000, for sure.

Take it to April 14th, per the CDC rule, and BOOM! “Fully vaccinated”. Yes, there’s the report now out that I’ll probably need a booster in about a year, but that’s about in line with your annual flu shot. Fine with me.

Where do I go from here?

To that, there’s now a sense of ease. I can realistically get back to some of the things I loved doing before I ever knew what COVID-19 was. 

My mother, who got her one-shot Johnson & Johnson days before I got my first shot of Pfizer (and, she’s doing well, thank you) has given me a sense of where to go next. When she showed me her filled-out vaccination card, I started to sob with only mild control over my tears. It was a release of many months of waiting and uncertainty that’s put our world on pause. So, my mother is back hitting antique shops and thrift stores and I can hear in the tone of her voice the excitement over partaking in these activities.

Now, I’m starting to realistically look at the things I want to experience and accomplish in the upcoming weeks and months.

First, let’s understand I am right now in Wisconsin and have been back home for the last 5½ years. Safe to say the Badger State has had its fair share of “back-and-forth tussles” in handling the virus. Keeping businesses open while doing all that can be done to kick the virus out has put those on both sides of the debate face-to-face - masked up, of course.

As I said in a previous TBD post, I’m heartbroken to see so many places I loved in New York being closed - in some cases, closed for good. Thankfully, it hasn’t been that bad for Eau Claire, Wisconsin, but there have been a few shutdowns in the area. 

Anyone who knows me learns quickly that I love craft beers. The one indulgence I would give myself between the office, my house, grocery runs, and drive-thrus was visiting a local taproom in town. It’s a newer building with good ventilation, plenty of space to distance, and the staff has taken the pandemic seriously while trying to stay open. Also, I’d go on off-times from any lunch or dinner rush and I’d go there only about once every 4 to 6 weeks.

With two shots of Pfizer in me and more than two weeks in the clear, I can feel better about visiting a local brewery and getting a small sample of an IPA or sour. My favorite style is an imperial stout, and one full pour will take me 90 minutes to sip and savor.

While I can feel good doing that right now, it may be a little longer until I feel better taking an extended vacation - or, at least, flying to some other part of the country. The CDC does say that people who are fully vaccinated can travel safely within the United States and don’t have to self-quarantine, but there are still a few hoops you need to go through which reinforce the fact that we’re not yet in the clear of this thing. Any vacation of mine may just be a road trip and that’s fine with me.

This is especially important for where I love to visit - the big cities. Staying 6 feet apart from anyone is almost impossible - and, that goes 100 times more on 5th Avenue in Midtown Manhattan. My 2020 vacation which never happened was for New York and I was going to do it a bit on the cheap. Yes, this CAN be done, even in a metropolitan area of more than 20 million people.

While I did put in for a neat AirB&B on Long Island (got a full refund) and had the round-trip nonstop flight booked with decent travel times (now have a nice $425 credit with Delta), the trip partly involved bumming around NYC and just watching the people. You may think this an odd activity to take in. Seeing, however, that I have to manage chaos five nights a week at the office by producing two newscasts, I find joy in stepping back and watching frenetic fury and ferocity fluctuate so fluently.

So, in an alternate 2020, you would’ve found me in NYC in mid-April, just sitting down off to the side with a coffee and bagel, while the heart of an amazing city beats the blood of life. With COVID-19, that heartbeat for New York has been slowed way down, but I see and hear that it’s going to come back. Just one of 73,516,294 reasons why I love that city.

Two shots also means the major job hunt is back on - which, if you’re keeping score at home, you know that it's high on my radar for 2021. The other day, I realized that this was a plan which was really born in the late-fall of 2019 - long before the letters C-O-V-I-D would become attached to that year. So, after a 12-month-long suspended animation, it’s time now to bring that quest back to life. I feel better in putting in for the major cities and larger environments that I desire, knowing the shots in my right arm are finished for now and the vaccine has worked its magic.

Hunkering down for as long as we have can’t be good for our collective psyche. Safe to say, there will be studies on this in the succeeding decades. Even though I’m an only child and grew up learning how to try and enjoy being self-sufficient, I think I’ve hit that point where seeing any bustle is nice. If I see three people walking on a sidewalk, I’ll think that’s a crowd … or, the 2021 term is “large gathering.”

Like I said, right now I’m in the minority in this nation, but the hope is I will soon be in the vast majority. Yet, there’s a slowdown in getting people inoculated. Part of that is tied to hitting some more of the rural areas and, of course, with more fully-vaccinated comes a drop in vaccinations. However, there’s still a group of people who are worried about the vaccine or, for whatever reason, will refuse to get it. I won’t open that Pandora’s Box here with regard to that slice of the population.

I will say, however, the time for inaction is over. The time for having the economy grind to a halt has come and gone. The hope remains for herd immunity - the point when a large part of the population of an area is immune to a disease - to be reached by the Fourth of July. That’s a little more than two months from now, but it can be done.

I’ve done my part. Now, do yours. Get the damn shots in the arm. Then, we can all see our smiles again.