the word i’ve been using to describe 2017 thus far has been “weird.” it’s been a weird year. it’s also been an incredibly difficult year because it’s always difficult to try to heal, to come back from some truly dark, insidious places. it’s hard to try to step willfully into the light and hold on and hope again.
at the same time, it’s been one hell of an incredible year, and my extended weekend back home was a great reminder of all that. i have people of my own; i have a community of my own; and, yes, sometimes, those friendships and that community feel frustratingly diffused, spread apart as we are by distance and space and time, but they’re real, and they’re present, and they’re ongoing.
i have people in my corner, people who are rooting for me, people who support me and care for me and love me. i finished my book. earlier this year, i wondered if i would ever finish my book because writing — writing fiction, specifically — felt so totally impossible, but i did it, and i’ve sent it to an agent, to friends who’ve never read my fiction, to magazines on submission. i’m working full-time, not at a career-job but at a job, and i’m applying to other jobs, hopefully potential career-jobs, and i’m developing and writing essays and thinking about new fiction. i’ve been creating content pretty consistently for this site. i’m going to therapy and seeing my psychiatrist and trying to eat better (sometimes), and i’m trying. i’m trying, i’m trying, i’m trying.
i’m still here.
and it’s on me to find my way back home again.