Summer was euphoric. It burned brightly and waned as summer always does. Now, I’m in my season of harvest and there’s death all around me in a beautiful way. For each leaf that hits the ground I’m reminded that even though I have to push forward, I don’t have to allow myself to veer off into an aurora. The lights will always be there, flashing and flickering. Fun will always be there, swirling in limes and rose colored spirals around me. And if I choose to, I can spin and bask in those spirals until I lose my sense of direction and time again.  But like I said before, it’s harvest season. I have a pact with self, a pact with God, and work that I’m more than ready to do.

The first weeks of spring were marked by cold and rainy days, so when the sun came out in full force, my friends and I decided to bask in it. I called my little sister (AKA “Patron Saint of Planning Shit”), slicked my hair into ponytail with styled edges, and jumped into a backless romper with tall heels. When I walked into the house her boyfriend shares with his two friends, I was stoked to find all there there punting around ideas about how to best take in some sun. Everyone was smiling and laughing. Someone put out a spread of wings. Another paired their phone to a large speaker. For the first time that week, I felt relaxed.

And then I saw him.

He bounded down the stairs in a floral hoodie and grey joggers and we just stared at each other. Stared and stared until we finally talked to each other. Then we exchanged numbers and, to my disbelief, texted and called each other every day after that. Finally, he did the one thing that no one else had done in the three years I was single: he asked me how I felt about him, and if I could see myself being with him. And the craziest part was, I actually could. Read More