I was sent to work from home on March 17, 2020.The anxiety triggered by the expectation of equal (if not more) productivity while the country faced the great big unknown, now a faint memory. Yet, the hopeful silence of waiting for a savior still loud enough to remember. The last day —of so many things...

The constant shifting, the feeling of displacement becoming more and more temporary —side effects of being moved from where I could no longer reside. Quarantining, isolation in the place I’ve always found most comfortable, made me realize how uncomfortable I’d been in life. Uncomfortable in relationships: romantic, platonic, professional especially. Uncomfortable —physically, spiritually, mentally —the tolls not living in your purpose can take. So, I left. Sometimes a privilege, sometimes an absolute right —to leave and never look back. An unveiling, gifting the ability to see true colors —granting me the knowledge of which ones I prefer to paint my picture with. This past year was... art. The beauty of it all, the pain, the discovery, the unpredictability, the nuance, the pressure to somehow make it all worthwhile. Something to look at, creation in spite of disaster, yet captivating —marvelous like all things built from what had been broken down...

Every ending has been a new beginning. Grounded in solitude, no other option but to look and finally see; a lot of what once felt like priorities falling into background noise as the most important task became to survive. To survive we must evolve. In celebrating small wins, I am learning that they aren’t nearly as small as you think. At this very moment, and more often than not, I am shifting. Finding new passions, yearning for new places to belong, questioning what I’d once been so sure of —even with a degree, with a book, with work experience in a variety of fields; even with miles and miles behind me after walking in one particular direction. On days when I feel so stuck, lost on my journey, or exhausted from wandering; I remember the importance of leaving —moving on from what no longer feeds my soul. This year, during a pandemic nonetheless, home became something so internal. I’ve been forced to protect it like never before; by putting so much unhealthy in my rearview —people, places, and things that once felt like home too. Therefore, I am worthy of grief, worthy of celebration, worthy of grace, worthy of every single beginning.