December 9th, 2020
Over the past three years, I feel like I’ve done okay.
I wrote stuff. (Books, comics, songs, and over 60,000 words of blog material, to name some of it.) I did stuff (like go to conventions and concerts, on adventures and meetings). I thought stuff and I felt stuff. Like, really thought and felt it.
I was decent. I was reliable. I was empathetic. I was passionate. I was patient. I was kind (most of the time).
With help, I forged tools for the inside of me that I had never used before. I sewed myself a bag to carry them in.
I have dealt and am dealing with a lot. Some of the worst things I could imagine, brought to life in unimaginable ways. Darkness and hunger and heaviness and tragedy.
But, as of today, I’ve done okay for three whole years — without pouring myself a single drink.
And in a year that feels like a net full of losses, I need to remember to take photos of the keepers.
All my love today to those who still struggle, and to those who have found the people, places, words, and things that have helped you find better days.