2023 was the year of a million hearts beating and breaking all at once. I heard it in the scurried scratch of pen across paper as half baked thoughts somehow stumbled their way into reality, and in the familiar click click clicks of a turn signal as you called me on your way home. We continued to climb the ever tall mountain of character growth, and this year, we mined deeply to see exactly what kind of stuff we’re made out of. News flash, what’s down there is sharper than expected, and it’s taking, and will take much more, time to figure out how to sand it down.
Beautiful things happened in 2023, like seeing sunrise at 14000’ and laughing at how breathtaking the car looks after hiking 30miles from dawn to dusk. Gosh, and the Chipotle burrito or Culver’s milkshake on the way home tastes almost like ambrosia-- although I’ll save the title of “Food of the Gods” for a good ol’ fashioned Clif bar.
There was one time I got a call in the middle of August while you’re on your long run, and it was the most electric I had felt in a very long time. A few weeks later, I never thought I’d add a day in Illinois to my list of favorite days, but eating apple cider donuts, tipping a kayak into a chain of Midwest lakes, and brunching on pancakes after a perfect long run felt like ice cream. Who’d have thought it would take one of us moving a thousand miles away to get to know each other better.
And this other time, we got actual ice cream at this place where my heart did break, and I got to make new memories of us before a Laufey concert where the crowd was on average at least 8 years younger than us (unless you count the many dads chaperoning around their daughters). Since then we’ve learned that we can add our surprisingly identical musical tastes to our hours of chitter chatter.
In 2023, I had to work harder for things I didn’t know I had to work hard for. Unsurprisingly (yet completely surprisingly), if you don’t write the papers, the papers simply won’t be written. I sat in hospital chairs alone most of the time, but sometimes holding my best friend’s hand, even if we’re no longer best friends, and I don’t think your mom likes me. (No one really warns you how charring it is to turn chapters with a friend when both sides have bared teeth and all the years of hard earned trust have been whittled down. It’s hard to start back at square 1 when we had crossed fjords before.) When trails that were once so comfortable became frighteningly difficult, I decided, maybe against better judgment, that nothing will stop me from running again; I figure if you’re going to commit to something, you better train smart, train hard, and go for it 100% and leave it all at the well.
There were victories in 2023 as well, like how “upsetti spaghetti” has replaced “dilp” as the most common phrase my friends use because of me. I’ve breathed deeply and shared far too many stories-- sorry to those of you who have sat through one of my 20 minute sagas, and thank you for laughing at my jokes and making the appropriate facial expressions at the appropriate times. I joined a choir for the first time since college and sang with people three times my age. If you’re lucky, as you age you’ll lose none of your silliness but get to keep all the wisdom only matured with age. I hope I grow up to be like them. (I hope I grow up.) On the other side of the life stage cycle, working with high schoolers certainly keeps you young-- and definitely humble. How else should you respond when they “borrow your phone for pictures” only to start sending voice memos to your most recently texted friend?
From January to December, I’ve driven across nearly 20 states, up and down California, through the Sierras, deep into the heart of the Rockies, across Appalachia; and I’ve hiked hundreds and run thousands of miles — a no easy feat for someone who was out of commission for five months out of this year. (I will admit however that I was in no small part motivated by a medical professional who suggested my medical problems could simply be fixed by “some exercise and healthy eating”.) I’ve lived in three states, and in each adventured so hard that I saw magic in every living and non living thing.
I can wax and wane on the infinitely many lessons 2023 has graced me with, but each month taught me something new. So with no shortness of breath:
Decision making is a dynamic process, and what made sense before may not make as much sense now. Pivoting, weighing your options, taking a break — they’re all good decisions too (January)
It is far better to wrestle with God than to turn a cold shoulder (February)
Turns out if you don’t have anything to say, it’s totally okay to not say anything. In fact, I really like silent car rides and muted hikes (March)
Relationships must adapt, or they will die. And while this by no means implies that we shouldn’t fight for the relationships that are so incredibly precious to us, but we must recognize that the friendship cultivated at 20, 21, 22 may bear different fruits now. (April)
Alternating drivers when you’re on a road-trip often means one of you will drive 85% of the way and the other (me) will drive 15%. But in my defense it’s not for lack of offering! (May)
Not everyone has the same cleaning standards, nor the same dish washer ideology (June)
(6b/6)Treat yourself gently, and accept when others also want to treat you gently (July)
You cannot control how people will respond, but you are responsible for the things you say and how you say them. (August)
There are limitations to what you can fix, but there are so far few problems a nice little pastry won’t give you the moral to accomplish (September)
Only in cross country does the audience get to participate in the sport during the event (October)
There’s love that’s like sunlight, some like moonlight. Your love can be like the wind or like electricity, and. in the complexities of what it looks like to love and be loved, I’ve learned that it often times sneaks up on you as much as it forces you to choose it over and over again. It is both the easiest thing in the world to love someone and the hardest. (November)
There is a special type of lovely in a quiet, simple evening of hot water, a book, and a journal to surround you while snuggled on a couch. Feral girl fall quickly fades to domestic wife winter. (December)