Starting the year off right, by which I mean, in a treehouse

It’s strange to feel so displaced and dethroned, and yet so happy I’m borderline giddy. What a nerd. Staying up until 4am to file my first story on a Black Lives Matter protest. Or introducing myself as a reporter to sources. WHAT a nerd. I am the person I make fun of on Twitter. And I’m too happy to care. I have chosen a particular path, a much harder and more painful path, and it was completely wise to do so.

My current life now consists of writing in coffeeshops as a living. I could jump up and down or scream. How is this even happening? 

By the way, I had lots of fun writing this article on refugee resettlement so I have no problem shoving it in your face. Also, go subscribe to TCB’s email list.

Perhaps fellow people pleasers/overachievers on an alternative schedule will relate with the 10am tinge of guilt of eating cereal and feeling like you’re supposed to be doing Something different or better. It’s a time of transition. Definitely feels reminiscent of the many seasons of under- or un-employment I’ve experienced in the past three years. POSTGRAD, kids. Ain’t linear. I digress.

In between my last post and this one, in between those two articles and all of Season 1 of Jane the Virgin (which distracted me from the X-Files, rookie mistake, the new season is SO CLOSE and I still have so much to catch up) I had a sleepover in a treehouse and attempted stupidly to climb the biggest mountain on the East coast in 10-degree weather. Don’t worry, I gave up, of course, in the best way, and went to an art museum instead. And talked to my Airbnb host Sidney about agnosticism and Downton Abbey.

I have an unsquishable hope today. Hope that God is real and cares about me, that my story matters, and that there is a sunny day every once in a while between the heavy ones. It’s a good hope. Because it’s real. xo


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