This year, I found a new love: roasted okra. One weekend, I picked up a small basket at a stall at a farmer’s market downtown, shades of purple and green. The stall woman said to generously coat in oil and season as desired. I keep it simple: sunflower oil, sea salt, and cracked pepper. I cook the okra until it’s nutty brown, the seeds nearly black.
New books populate the shelves in my cozy apartment tucked away in the farmlands. I originally swore only to read what I brought in a small box. I thought I didn’t need much, but that isn’t true. And I’ve read less than ten this year. I bought clothes to navigate the many conferences I found myself dreading, wishing to be home. I also found that I desperately needed a puppy when the grief of my last nearly overtook me this summer. Now, there’s a constant source of curiosity and affection, a great joy, but I still cry at times. Let’s not even discuss the amount of yarn I own.
After a decade, I sensed a creeping dissatisfaction in my work; a futility I had not felt before. Even with having a job I enjoyed and with fabulous people. I’ve dedicated much to technology, and it seems as if nothing and everything has changed. If anything, the next life-altering thing is just around the corner, only to be proven to not be the silver bullet we imagined, but instead, merely a tool to catalogue away among the other tools as we approach an undeterminable point in our evolution—to go beyond ourselves and our capabilities. Become extensions in the vast reaches of greatness, of space. Even so, I have a fantastic new job, though a renewed sense of purpose is still in the works, but that will come in time.
Creatively and despite the rejections, I put my poetry into the world to various publications. They can’t all be winners, but I’ve still had one of the most creative years I’ve experienced since college. We’ll see if any of it goes beyond my laptop, but at least I’m putting in the work.
I’ve also returned home as I haven’t since I was a teenager. I realize how I missed my family, understand how precious our time is together. To have coffee with my mother each morning, to learn my stepfather framed my painting from college, to have weekly calls with my father and brother. I’ve taken time to turn inward and found a depth of relief I didn’t know I worried over.
Above all, I’ve realized a deep selfishness has taken hold. The desire to hide away, to not do as much, to be in a constant state of need. Whatever lies ahead, this year I want to turn the crystal and focus not on what I need, but what I have, who I have, and what I will do to find more joy, more purpose, more love for myself and others. I hope the same for you.



