Despite this blog, I would not consider myself a writer: I’ve never managed to finish a short story; I cringe when I read old, incomplete drafts; and if anything, the brief editorial internship I had after college only confirmed how much I didn’t want a career in words.

And yet—as I’ve worked through the almost comically tragic combination of having COVID, going through a breakup, and caring for my ailing dog (who is fine now, by the way!)—writing is truly what’s kept me together.

I’m incredibly grateful for my support network of friends and family, and I was especially touched by how they rallied around me, virtually, during the days when I needed a hug more than ever but literally couldn’t receive one. But when it comes down to it, loss is a deeply personal and individual matter. Setting aside time each day to write—or journal, more specifically—has forced me to confront my emotions head-on. And because they change a lot—regularly shifting between sadness, nostalgia, disappointment, gratitude, and all the messy feelings in between—this daily acknowledgement has been key to recognizing the nuances of my past relationship, as well as the ways it wasn’t sustainable.

I actually wrote so much that, a few days after the breakup, my journal ran out of pages! A Christmas gift from my college roommate, it’s only the second journal I’ve ever completed, cover-to-cover. My first entry was from the start of 2018, so that’s over four years of memories in this unassuming purple volume. I swiftly purchased a ~swanky~ new one from Paper Source, which I’ve been using ever since.

Aside from the daily journaling and introspection, externally what’s helped me heal is saying yes to everything (I know, I know, so cheesy) and actively seeking new experiences with others. Last weekend, I joined my neighbor for an improv show, attended Porchfest with friends, and had my first road biking lesson. My instructor was really encouraging and helpful, and I’ve been practicing what she taught me—starting and stopping out of the saddle—during every ride since then. (I’m slowly getting the hang of it!) And rather hilariously, my only injury during the lesson came not from me falling off the bike, but from the bike falling on me…turns out I should never blindly trust a kickstand.

Unfortunately, my instructor also pointed out a lot of things that were wrong with my bike. I’m such a bike noob that I hadn’t noticed any of these, but apparently, both derailleurs are wonky (the gears are always 1 off from what they should be); the tires are slightly different sizes (okay, maybe I should have noticed this one…); and the storage rack was not attached correctly. It was a used bike, so I wasn’t expecting perfection, but it had supposedly been fixed up before going on sale. My instructor was indignant that the mechanics who’d sold me the bike had taken advantage of me, but honestly, I don’t think that’s what happened—I think they were just negligent and working too fast.

Regardless, it was disappointing to find out that my bike wasn’t in the best shape. I verified that these flaws weren’t dangerous, but they also weren’t…great. As soon as I can confidently ride to one, I’ll have to take it to a shop. A l a s. 🚴🏻‍♀️

This week has been similarly packed. On Wednesday night, a couple of friends and I decided to check out Skip The Small Talk, which is essentially a two-hour event where you have several 10-minute conversations with complete strangers, often aided by question prompts. The whole idea is to have “deep, meaningful, and vulnerable conversations,” and while it was certainly fun—and opened the door to several possible friendships—I’m not super convinced by the premise. I mean, regardless of subject matter, can you really call a conversation “vulnerable” if there are no stakes? With complete strangers, that’s exactly the case.

The next night I had my weekly Thursday night dinner with a friend, and today we finally, finally went to the Museum of Fine Arts (only took us 2 years!). There was a lot to take in, and my friend has a much higher stamina for overwhelming museum content than I do. I’m glad we went together, because on my own, I probably would’ve quit after ninety minutes. By the time we left, I was completely art’d out.

It ended up being a really beautiful day, so after grabbing lunch and getting dessert at a matcha café, we decided to just walk the 3 miles back instead of taking the T. I’m really happy with that decision, and even after we went our separate ways, I still wanted to be outside for longer. That feeling seemed universal, as there were more people out and about today than I’d seen all year.

Coincidentally, my neighbor-turned-friend texted at that exact moment asking whether I wanted to hang out, and within a half hour, we were walking Coconut along the Esplanade and finding a nice spot to sit. It was gorgeous, actually—we had a great view of Cambridge from across the water, and it stayed light for way longer than I’d expected.

Before we left, I asked for my picture to be taken. I’m on a mission to better document my twenties for Future Natalie’s sake—I know she’d want to see what I looked like, what I liked to do, who I hung out with, etc. I don’t have very many pictures of myself from the past year or so, which is kinda sad because there were several moments that I would’ve loved to have photos from. It can sometimes feel embarrassingly vain to ask for a photo of yourself, and that alone was a pretty strong deterrent for me. But I’m doing my best to get over that, and I’m happy I got a snapshot from today. 📸

Aaand that’s all for now! Until my next post (which’ll hopefully be…next week? Maybe!?) 👋