I write this sitting next to 3 other people poring over their journals, scribbling furiously to translate into writing the words playing around in their head, some resorting to doodles only they can understand: an attempt to remember things — trips and falls, bumps and scratches, summits and jump offs.
I write this slumped on the floor, a flurry of footsteps creating a melody one can only hear in waiting areas: excited and impatient or agitated or calm and quiet or noisy or many other things, things I do not yet know, things I probably would not understand.
I write this with the memories of the past three days ingrained in my brain, of being told I am wrong, of being reminded of my strength, of realising I am human, and, as humans do, I err, and falter, and judge, and sometimes, if I am strong enough, I am able to make things right.
Yesterday we welcomed 13 new hearts into the community I now call my family, and despite the trouble that I’ve caused by judging their circumstances way before I’ve gotten to know them, I’m glad they let me in their lives the way they did. In insignificant ways, but in things that last. Mostly, though, I’m glad they changed my view on life — to not be too quick to put periods on statements that would be better off with ellipses, to understand contexts, to listen.
I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life (watching the sun peek from behind the mountains, laying ourselves in cold river springs when the heat becomes too overwhelming, partaking in meals that consider our advocacies, growing up – and old – together) with you, guys.
Congrats again, Batch 27.
Of perpetual finds 