This has been, by far, the most dystopian year I have lived through. While I was one of the few Americans who was extremely fortunate to not experience the most negative consequences of the covid-19 pandemic, witnessing the further destruction of my reality was not easy to take in stride. Like some people, I fell into unhealthy patterns of behavior. I was a hermit, I ate far too much junk food between March-May, I became sedentary, I nearly shaved my head. But I was alive.

I didn't write on this blog because I told myself I was too busy. From graduate school to professional internships, I prioritized my working output over rest. I started and stopped and started and stopped doing things that made me happy. But I was alive.

There is a necessary importance in remaining still. For me, I was forced to look around and analyze just what I wanted to do and be with my life. Things I thought were certain became uncertain, and things I thought were important stopped feeling so important. I'm grown-ish (HA.), now, so coming into my own is starting to feel pretty crucial.