suprasternal notch
Once grief enters your life, it stays. What surprised me most wasn’t that it stayed. It was where it decided to live.
Once grief enters your life, it stays. What surprised me most wasn’t that it stayed. It was where it decided to live.
I have heard the word “resilience” more times than I can count, almost always from someone being paid by the hour to say it. A John Green novel finally explained what it actually means.
Nothing says welcome to the neighborhood like four government photos of your trash and recycling cans, one of your home, and a close-up of your name and address on a shipping label, and a $75 fine.
I am licensed to practice law in North Carolina. I live in Washington, DC. I work from an office in Arlington, Virginia. Three jurisdictions, only one of which I’m licensed in, and it is never the one I’m standing in.
I don’t know if I’m in the rowboat or the water, but I’m certainly waiting for something that is never coming.
Recapping 2025 was easy. This year is more painful: snowcrete, two house sales, a DC house bought from Italy, three households of stuff crammed into one, and a law firm that doesn’t travel well. Ten months down, two to go.
2025 began with saying goodbye to June and learning Becci’s UNC job was being eliminated. Then came a painful New Zealand trip, our most strong-willed puppy yet, a meniscus torn while putting on sunscreen, and a move to DC none of us saw coming.
This story doesn’t start with our move to DC. For me, it started on a day in August 2024, walking the dogs one last time at Kure Beach before driving back to Durham for Becci’s knee surgery, dreading what was coming.