notes

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capable of radiant joy

march 24 2024

I am almost twenty-eight. It's raining. Wine wraps my thoughts in peach fuzz. I am sitting across from someone I love. Warmth from the patio heater floats down to kiss the back of my neck. Rain mist settles on my arm and feels like a sea breeze or the spray of water over the bow of my father's boat. I am wearing my great-grandmother's jewellery. My mother's smile beams out from my face. I look across the table and must explain myself: I'm so happy.

It is the next day. I am nearer to twenty-eight. Spring is making a valiant attempt, determinedly sprouting crocuses and clearing the sky. I go for a walk with someone I love. Sunlight paints windows on my living room carpet. In my kitchen, I cry for no reason at all. Tidal sadness swells and retreats. When, last year, I dabbled in affirmations, I decided they could not be aspirational; they must be true. I think, "I am capable of radiant joy."

And I am.

welcome to 2023

january 12 2023

life updates: I finished my year at The Writer's Studio. my short story "The Year of the Thunderstorm" appears in emerge22: The Writer's Studio Anthology, in which I am one of 90 writers featured. you can also read that story here. my friends and I read 12 books for book club in 2022, and will be continuing in 2023. I deleted Twitter and TikTok off my phone. I watched more movies in December than the rest of the year combined. I took three weeks off work, and I didn't think about work at all over the holiday.

how was 2022? challenging. I didn't always feel up to the challenge. maybe it's a symptom of my age, but this past year was rife with confusion and angst, alongside moments of great contentment and fulfillment. I feel like I am getting it all wrong while simultaneously believing that my life is, in most ways, better than it's ever been. I've been thinking a lot about Nina Simone's definition of freedom: no fear. I am afraid of wasting my potential, whatever that means. but then I remember that when Mary Oliver wrote Tell me, what is it you plan to do / with your one wild and precious life?, she was writing about a summer day in which she knew how to pay attention and how to be idle and blessed. freedom, through this lens, would not be the fearless pursuit of goals, but to live with no fear of goals unmet, because the only moments wasted are the ones in which we forget how to pay attention to the world. and if the grasshopper can do it, then so can I.

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