On to

At brunch Tuesday morning, my mom asked us all what our 2025 highlights were. It occurred to me, not nearly for the first time, how much I have loved this year. How lucky I have been made. By my friends, my family, my job(s), my travels, my books, my music, my meals, my own company. This time last year, I was in Sydney, sitting harbour-side and watching the fireworks over the Opera House. I wasn't sure if or how I could keep the momentum, but I was quickly reminded that having something to come home to is half the joy.

"As" by Stevie Wonder is my favorite Stevie Wonder song and a wonderfully apt soundtrack to the past twelve months. I find myself surrounded by the most interesting, funny, clever, passionate, smart, beautiful, easy to love and root for people–who show me how and who I'd like to be. I find myself wishing the days would pass more slowly or not at all; I've realized how futile it is to try to count or keep track of anything, but I'm certain that if I were to tally the conversations I have shared over cups of coffee, during Hulu ads, between bites of pastry or fistfuls of Tap fries, in grocery store aisles and Harry's lines, on drives across campus and to Chicago and from the airport, on the couch and the floor of my bedroom and the way to Crumbl, poolside and Chicago riverside, while the pasta water boils and as the barista makes our drinks, on walks through Happy Hollow and between classes and to Trader Joe's, in doorways and parked cars, to put off studying and to make the night last longer, across tables and bars and thousands of miles on FaceTime, I would have enough to rival the rain in Seattle. I wish I could bottle all of it up and take it wherever I go. I find myself delighting in the ache of how much I love and miss and long for these moments shared with these people, even as I'm in them. I find myself a mosaic of the people I have had the privilege of knowing and caring for. And what a privilege, indeed, to know that life has given love such a guarantee.

To a year that showed me, time and time again, that the rosebuds always bloom in early May.

1. San Diego (twice!)

2. Nashville for the first time (🤢)

3. Senior Week

4. Graduated😜

5. Summer on campus

6. The most beautiful English garden I have ever seen

As another year begins anew, I feel the weight of time acutely. The concept of it has been on my mind a great deal recently. The time passed, the time lived in, the time ahead of and therefore unknowable to us. Time interpreted, divided, forgotten, cherished, memorialized, shared, sacrificed, gone too soon.

I passed much of mine this summer going on long walks. Over the three months, I came to know the way the sun hits certain houses at 7:06pm, the neighborhood cats, the father and daughter who toss a football in their backyard on the evenings that manage to shed the afternoon's humidity. I was careful to avoid the uneven sidewalk on Salisbury and the low-hanging branches on Maple Street. I knew the timing of all the stoplights. I had favorite porches and rooftops.

I have found that when I am able to match my gait to the pace of my thoughts, to feel the rhythm of my mind along the presence of my body, to follow the path of my musings as my feet follow theirs, there is no shortage of ideas and gratitudes, immensities and details that my mind does not reach. I cover ground in thought as on foot.

My favorite spot, amongst all my routes, was a house without which my walks would have been incomplete. Aptly located on Smiley Street, it boasted the most beautiful English garden I have ever seen. I found myself charmed every time I passed it. This street is really more of an alley, and I remember stumbling upon it for the first time, taking an unassuming left turn, stopping to take in the flowers taller than me and the wild beauty that reminded me a thing need not be manicured to be beautiful. Every time I walked by, the garden seemed to have sprouted a new flower variety, the colors somehow always matching the subtle changes of the seasons and my mood.

I read "A Philosophy of Walking" by Frédéric Gros this past July. An excellent summer read. Gros involves several other philosophers whose works were influenced by the act, and significance, of walking. As I did much reading and walking this summer, I found myself cross-referencing my own experiences and musings with Gros'. One of my favorite lines, which is actually a quote from Thoreau (flawed though he may be): "How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live." To this, Gros presents "the book as witness." This left me with a decent deal to mull over, as I like to consider myself one who both writes and lives. It has always been personal to me to determine how I allow the two to complement one another, to allow me both the creative and physical breadth to express and discover myself, others, the world in which we move about against within. 2026, I'd like to make sure that one is never for the sake of the other. That I don't write merely to live, nor that I live merely to write.

On my walk one evening, the owner of the garden was outside watering the peonies. You must understand, this was like seeing a celebrity. Even now, I find my mind wandering to this garden often–when I'm missing my friends, when I'm at my desk reading civil procedure long after Maddy has gone to bed, when I'm listening to a song that finds the exact feeling, when I'm antsy for the return of warm sun on my face and long shadows on the walk home. This garden lives in my dreams (no, really). I felt–still feel–let in on a marvelous secret, this corner of campus, tucked away and intimately mine but also for anyone who is fortunate enough to happen upon it. These photos don't do it justice, but I hope you enjoy as I have just the same.

7. The neighborhood cats

8. Cincinnati for the first time. With the best hostess ever.

9. Summertime Chi

10. New York City for the first time

11. Excellent books this year. Beat my Goodreads reading challenge!!!

What I read and recommend:

My favorites:

• "Americanah" by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

• "Remarkably Bright Creatures" by Shelby Van Pelt

• "I Who Have Never Known Men" by Jacqueline Harpman

• "Real Americans" by Rachel Khong

• "A Philosophy of Walking" by Frédéric Gros

Something old:

• "The Bell Jar" by Sylvia Plath

• "Speedboat" by Renata Adler

Something new:

• "The Poetics of Space" by Gaston Bachelard

• "The Thing Around Your Neck" by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

• "Minor Detail" by Adania Shibli

Something borrowed (thank you):

• "On Onions" by Elad Lassry

• "Alone With You in the Ether" by Olivia Blake

• "Lessons in Chemistry" by Bonnie Garmus

• "Kitchen Confidential" by Anthony Bourdain

• "Small Things Like These" by Claire Keegan

Something blue:

• "The Bluest Eye" by Toni Morrison

12. Milwaukee to visit Grandma

13. The most delicious year yet

14. Sips

15. Art I enjoyed (and one that Cami helped me make)

16. Took notice

17. Took care

17. Moved to Seattle

Thank you to the people who have made a new city feel like home. There is no one with whom I would rather weather Calo's tangents and cold calls (in that order), rainy walks...uphill, overpriced lattes (with oat milk), and the mile-long trek to our apartment at the very end of the hallway. I feel so lucky to be able to root for you all. Cheers to the next three.

18. Home for the holidays

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Putting this together, I was reminded, incessantly, how lucky I am. I was able to travel to visit friends, family, new cities, favorite cities, bucket list places and experiences–made all the more wonderful (and glamorous) by the fact that I had friends, family, and favorite places to come home to, too. I felt moved by the art I saw and the books I read. I spent my summer in the quiet intimacy one finds uniquely in an evening walk, with only one's thoughts and good music for company. I got new tattoos and learned new words and moved to a new city. I savored the warmth of the sun and home-cooked meals and embraces with the people who made Purdue such a difficult goodbye. I saw the ocean and played cards and enjoyed good coffee. I hiked and baked and learned more about torts than I ever cared to know. I felt unspeakably proud of the people in my life who got their own art shows, were accepted to their grad and nursing programs, made one billion dollars taking grad photos, moved to their own new cities to start their full-times, received well-deserved recognition for their landscape architecture work, booked their first NBA game–you all make me so lucky. I harbored myself in late nights and long afternoons with people whose thoughts and cleverness and ambitions remind me you are only as good as the people you love and who love you back.

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It's strange that to each is given days and chances that never fully come back around, never in the same way as when you were greeted with those first feelings and smells and sounds and sensations. But how sweet it was to be where you were and, to now, let yourself be reminded of the past, despite the upset. Sweeter still to have the chance of a new year. Of hopes and plans and things in mind. Of new recipes to try, mistakes to make, people to love.

Thank you to those in my life who are so much of who I am and what I love. I owe my greatest joys of the past year to you. And my gratitude, always, to you, dear reader, for taking the time to read what I write. On to the next–Cheers to whatever that may be.