Battered, bruised, broken, hanging by a thread but barely, how does one begin to pick up the pieces and navigate the wreckage? Thus sings the anthem of the past few years.

I often find myself revisiting this little white space in times of particular pensive quiet and heaviness of head. It has been a wonderful friend and companion, one that has experienced so many different versions of me since I was but barely conscious of mind.

Life has been so strange, so wonderful, so terrifying, all at once. In its most cruel moments when it rears its head on you, if done in succession, stifles the light at the end of the tunnel. Why is the design of the universe incomprehensible? If we are fortunate, more than that light at the end of the tunnel, we arrive at a point where there is more than a silver living; one where we do not envision ourselves going back to the way things were, even if things may have been better, for we have found ourselves permanently changed, and with it, the endless possibilities of a multitude of new futures.

They say things happen for a reason, and in the obstinacy and blindness of youth, we often hang onto the futility of what we sometimes are not meant to always have because we are so, so human, and so beautifully messy. They also say that we often look at what was lost, but don’t look at the many lives to be lived ahead of us – as I loved, as I hurt, as I grieve, as I mourn the life that was, that could have been, as I begin to process my shellshock, as I learn to show myself grace, I understand now that mistakes and poor choices had to be made, for everything led up to this one singular moment that is infinite – the present.

After all, what are we but small, infinitesimal beings who are here for a brief amount of time to reel it all in, to participate in the messiness, the random chaos of it all?

We may not always have all the answers but that’s okay.