It’s no secret that I bear little love for Missouri (Misery, my loved ones like to say, and they’re only half-joking).
I know that my cold feelings are at least partially unfair. It’s not the state’s fault, not really. It’s just that last time we were here, in 2021, I spiraled into a terrible depression and lost one of the people I loved most in the world and became semi-convinced that God despised me.
Okay, let me back up a bit.
The first time we met with our now-priest, Father Michael, he pointed to John's chest and said, "In your heart, you are already Orthodox. Your head just has to catch up."
John and I recently celebrated three months of marriage! (By "celebrated," I mostly mean that we noticed the date late in the evening, said, "wow! three months!" and then moved on). But it really is quite a milestone—a quarter of a year, already in the rearview mirror. They have been wonderful, novel, fast-paced, laugh-filled, tear-soaked months.
On July 16, John & I woke early, finished packing our belongings into our car, and hit the road for Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri.
Well—sort of. As with all plans, things went sideways immediately. Our plan was to hit the road by 10:30am after spending a leisurely, meaningful breakfast with our parents (minus my dad, who was working that day and to whom we'd said our goodbyes the night before). John's mom Martina made her signature German pancakes; my mom brought yummy donuts. Fresh coffee greeted us the moment we woke. All portents of a good morning.
But moving is crazy.
Hello dear friends. It’s been a little while, hasn’t it? The last post on this blog is from September of 2020—nearly a year ago. I certainly haven’t lacked words, but the longer I went without saying anything, the more there was to say, and the more daunting the task of putting pen to paper became.
When I went into work this afternoon, nothing was out of the ordinary. But now, three hours later, smoke has filled the sky’s expanse, the sunset painting it peachy, and it’s unclear whether it’s from Washington in the north, California in the south, or an Oregon town to the east of us. They’re all burning.
Quarantine is a strange experience. The days blur together, time moves slowly, and there's plenty of opportunity for reflection. And here's the thing: I've had a lot of time to be sorry for myself. I've wept and mourned the loss of Rome. I've reminisced and railed against the unfairness of it all. And now? I'm moving on.
A strange thing has been happening lately. I'm a full-time student. I'm a writer (if you're here, then you probably already know that). I work an office job and do a good amount of graphic design. I've recently picked up embroidery. I love to boulder, though I haven't been able to visit the wall in a… Continue reading touch
This summer, I signed my first lease. At the time, I felt that it should’ve been an event—after all, it was a life milestone. I was an adult now. I had to pay rent now. But instead it was alarmingly easy.
