2018

this year, i danced around my kitchen in my underwear often. i knit a sweater and wove a shawl and started stitching a quilt.  i sang a lot of bollywood and a bit of bright eyes in my car in between the mountains. i slept under the stars, baked cupcakes, made limoncello to toast in a yurt at 10k feet. i brewed a few hundred cups of chai. i made some rose + calendula oil and some beautiful friends. i ate a lot of eggs and avocados, in true millennial form. i panicked and started meditating and quit meditating and went to therapy and quit therapy and dragged myself back again.

i cried on the loneliest nights and also on the nights when i felt so held by the love in my life. i taught an abortion doula training and hosted the revolution in my living room. also diwali. i got whiskey-drunk and smoked on my porch and had a weed-induced panic attack and swore *never again*. i flew to greece via finland and the netherlands and qatar. i left a boy who loved me and dated some girls who didn't. i felt very brown and very crippled and very queer and very privileged. i hiked a few miles alone in a canyon and a few more with my sister in moab and came out feeling like a bionic badass. i soaked in some hot springs and counted meteors with someone i love. i called my senators. i soapboxed on maternal and child health in colorado and in the west, learned about black maternal health in atlanta. i got rejected from midwifery school, again. i tended some sourdough and mended some clothes. i bought myself a box full of scraps of silk & lace and a secondhand linen jumpsuit. i made my home in indigo and candlelight.

i like to be reflective, at beginnings and endings. they can happen as often as you like. i do mine seasonally, quarterly, on birthdays and anniversaries and solstices and equinoxes.


a few healing practices for winter, for a new year, for anytime and always:

until next time.

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