to scream into the wind

in a year with a lot of hard shit, I am still finding joy (and myself)

December 31, 2019 — the last night I spent in the desert before heading east.

I debated whether or not I would write an end-of-year letter to you all. I have yet to write much this month outside a few revisions on my book and my requisite morning pages, which I keep in a college-ruled notebook on my night table. Then I read a few other letters and essays…