Suns rise and set and rise and set and rise and set and before we know it, we turn around and years have gone by that we felt and experienced and ate and drank and loved and lost and really lived in like a rugged pair of vintage jeans we’ve had forever. And yet, they were gone with the fluttering of an eyelash. If years were raindrops, they fell on my nose and I caught one on my tongue and they filled up the lid of my Starbucks cup and I wiped them away without paying attention. I ingested them but that didn’t make them any more or any less bygone.

And now suddenly it is the dawn of another one. In 2015, it will have been eight years since I went on a 7 Eleven run with Ryan Adams during my very first “adult” visit to Vancouver, which I did totally alone. It will have been two years since I bid goodbye to that person. It will have been six years since the first time my heart was completely shattered, since I sat like an old dilapidated house while a boy chucked stones at my windows and broke them until the old spotty brittle glass smashed into teeny tiny smithereens and sat sharp and destroyed on the earth at my foundations. It will have been eleven years since I moved to Edmonton and began my undergraduate degree, not knowing just how much my life would change and how much possibility and heartache and decisions would come into my life when I stepped into my residence room for the very first time. We all have these milestones in our lives. We hold fast to their remembrance and everything else wilts like flowers dropping leaves and petals. We remember how alive we were and how young we were and how many difficult choices we made. And how all of these things changed us as a result.

Heading into this year, a lot of aspects of my life are different and scary and special and wonderful and confusing and I’m chomping at the bit waiting for the next phase and waiting to make choices and waiting to decide where my career and my life and my adulthood will go. And I love that. Discomfort and fear and confusion are terrifying, but I’m so glad I can handle and walk with those heavy, burdensome fears and feel stable and almost accepting of them. This last decade and a half has prepared me well for 2015. And now I’m embarking again.


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