A few weeks back, our weekly newsroom meeting focused on how we would approach the “anniversary” of the arrival of severe acute respiratory syndrome coronavirus 2 in Connecticut.

As jarring as it is to apply a word with a generally happy connotation to something that has killed more than half a million people, I thought the one-year mark would be a fitting time to revive this column and reflect on the impact of the pandemic on millennials.

There’s anecdotal evidence that millennials have been hit especially hard. In particular, this age group is in part two of an economic recession double feature, faced with tackling industry shutdowns while still recovering from the impact of the Great Recession in 2008.

In her article in the Aug. 9 edition of The Wall Street Journal, Janet Adamy said millennials have a higher unemployment rate and lower wealth than previous generations, noting that “millennials are now at risk of falling further behind because they entered the pandemic in a weaker position than older Americans.”

Even those who have thus far squeaked through without losing a job or a loved one may still be struggling. They’ve had to put off goals of saving, investing or asking for a raise that, as Julia Carpenter noted in her WSJ piece on Sept. 4, “seemed beside the point, if not downright frivolous” given the amount of suffering around.

“It feels like our efforts to catch up have been put on hold as we wrestle with how to reconcile financial and career goals with the ever-evolving pandemic timeline,” she said in the piece.

But even coming from the perspective of the resident young whippersnapper, what can I say that you don’t already know? Ultimately, we’re stuck in the same “hurry up and wait” as everyone else.

Even if we’re lucky enough to be able to work full time from home, the novelty of that has long worn off. We worry about our friends and family who are higher risk because of their age or medical issues or job. Every interaction with another person is clouded by risk assessment.

I’m fortunate that some of my hobbies can work online rather than in person. I had the privilege of being able to visit family when many others couldn’t. I’m grateful to be employed, healthy and alive.

As we get into year two of pandemic mode, I want to be hopeful. The daylight hours are getting longer, the temperatures are starting to increase, and my relatives are starting to get their vaccines. But it has been such a long year.

Where I draw the most hope from, and I apologize in advance for the hokey analogy, are seeds. Flipping through the seed catalogs I accumulate over the winter always boosts my spirits, with their bright colors and seemingly endless possibilities. Every year, I long for the first weekend in March when I can bring up my seed starting materials from the basement.

I know it’s not magic — I was a biology minor in college and did UConn’s Master Gardener program last year — but there’s something alchemical about the ability to turn something that looks so sad and inert into a vibrant little sprout, especially when in a few months it will produce life-sustaining nutrition.

By the time you read this, I will have moved to the great white north to accept a new position in Ithaca, N.Y. Unfortunately, the house I’m moving into has no suitable gardening space, but I’ll have my orchid and Christmas cactus collection, and I found an organization that has an urban farm and community gardens that I may volunteer with.

I want to think that with time and care, we, too, can grow out of this sad, inert stage in history into a vibrant future.

Amanda Hutchinson is the former assistant community editor for The Times.