I'm approaching an anniversary.
It's been almost 3 years.
I've read old letters that I wrote to myself at the beginning and I remember how I had to stop writing them because I didn't recognize my voice anymore.
At the beginning I wrote a lot about fire and how I needed to burn off an excess of something that had been contained too long.
And so that looked like an intensity to living that I hadn't experienced since my college days. But I now find myself returning to the woman that I was before the burn. And even though my skin has fully shed and I am no longer the same, it has felt like the sweetest of homecomings.
I went from introverted to extroverted and have settled somewhere between the two.
I didn't know then that I would ever come back to this version of me. This life of slower living, quieter nights, deep reflection. An affection for spending time with foods and flavors and written words.
It seems not that unusual then, that I'll be moving on this 3rd anniversary. A fresh home for this fresh self.
There's a newness here, too. A more solid understanding of what I want. Of who I am. Of what is important and of how I want to feel from day to day. And there is an unknown in this newness that I am still getting acquainted with.
I want to write pages and pages of how it all went down, but then I don't. It seems less necessary to recount the past than it does to wish it well and let the winds scatter the memories.
There is still work to do. Of course there is.
I plan to tell you all about it over the next few months.