this year was the best year, in a long while. the parts that humble me as i ruminate are the person i was before it all—and the person i will become after. last winter was a dark time for me, i was s t u c k— i wanted so desperately to get out of the toxic relationship i was in, to upend my career, to become unrecognizable. i was so numb to it all i forgot to reflect on the year i’d had. i worked in the background, one step at a time, blindly giving my faith to the universe, believing that time would save me. and one day, it did. one day in february of this year, i said to hell with it—it’s 2023. when am i going to start living for me and not for everybody else? that is when my year really started.
one evening in february, i made the decision to breakup from my toxic relationship. i feared his anger, his retaliation, his manipulation, anything to paint me as the villain, for the entirety of our partnership, until that evening and the morning after. i became blissfully unattached to the outcome of my own conviction. and i faced the brute force of his temper tantrum, but at least i was free. free from carrying the weight of someone else’s trauma, of lack mindset, of projected anger, of helping someone because they could not help themself.
and in that moment, in that one decision, my innermost strength was revealed to me. i allowed the weightlessness to suspend me, to help me become unrecognizable.
the thing about the tearing, the freeing, is that it is only the beginning.
one evening in march, i hit my lowest point and i doubted my strength, what had brought me to four weeks after the breaking, the liberation. that night, i did not know how i could carry myself anymore, and so my friends did. one stayed on the phone until another could lay next to me in bed as i wept and purged and purged until i no longer doubted myself. i murmured “haven’t i given enough,” until enough was enough. the next morning, i set my eyes to the horizon and thanked whatever was worth thanking.
a few days later, i landed in tahoe for a friend’s birthday. i looked around and thought— how freeing, to live this life and to enjoy every bit of it, even the hard moments, to get to choose my outlook everyday, to smile and breathe and be. i had made it to my goal of one month, i had gone no-contact, and so the goal reset and i continued on, one foot in front of the other. one day at a time, calling my soul back to myself.
april was a blur of parties and therapy and no sleep and friends becoming best friends. it was exhausting and thrilling and expansive and unhinged and feral and empowering and humbling.
one late evening in april, i danced until my feet ached, i brewed tea in a tent, i kissed my friends, i made them laugh, i drank too much, i asked my friends to rub my belly, and i awoke, grateful to have danced, grateful to be my own person, grateful to have such wonderful friends.
the summer was a series of things to look forward to while relishing in the heat of prosperity. i was l i v i n g for me, finally.
i took two weeks off of work to travel to korea with my family. one evening in may, i laughed so hard at karaoke i almost peed myself. i looked around the room at my family and felt, proud. to have known them my entire existence, to have allowed them to shape me, to take my own form now. i thought to myself, this is precious, protect it and nurture it and allow it to heal you, even your wounds.
june was a celebration of life— my 29th birthday. the final year of my 20’s, something most people fear, loathe, applaud, and cherish.
one evening in june, i got dressed up to go to a concert with my roommate and we and belted each song amongst a sea of melanie martinez fans. we held hands and cried and emphasized the line from evil where she says— “you called the other day, i stayed away, and it felt like bliss, hop skip jumping over narcissists.” again, i thanked my lucky stars and felt as vibrant as the colors i adorned that evening in june.
in july, the summer heat finally arrived. the hot, balmy, sticky air that barely cools in the evenings. i lived for those hot days. as the heat rose, so did my anxiety for burning man and all that i had left to prepare.
one evening in july, i found myself back at red rocks for zed’s dead with my friend. i had only been once before in 2021, to the same show. she was also going through a transformative summer and when the song “collapse” came on, we held each other’s faces and sang— “lying on my side and i’m wondering when will it all collapse. you’re already gone.” the tears began to stream, perhaps in grief, perhaps in reverence for our existence, for our feet firmly planted on the benches of an amphitheater in denver. for true love in friend form.
when august finally crested, i was a nervous wreck. i had created lists, attended camp prep calls, spent thousands of dollars, and was panic ordering last minute items. i had an eerie feeling that everything was about to change, yet again. the summer had flown from one month to the other, as if days did not exist, and all that was true was the darkness and the light. burning man was set to be the climax, the eclipse, the cosmic alignment that would bring me home for the first time in this human flesh.
one day in august, my friends and i drove all day and arrived in tahoe. the air was cool in the shade, warm in the sun, bees were getting stuck inside the grand a-frame windows, i put on a record, we rehearsed our burlesque dance for the playa, we drank wine, i journaled, i wrote all of my poetry down on cardboard handouts as playa gifts, everything was perfect, perfect, perfect.
another day in august, i danced at distrikt in my cow print swimsuit, a gifted silk scarf, ski goggles, and my mask as the dust billowed past us. the fine playa dust lapped at my skin as i twirled on stage as my most embodied self. a man took a photo of me and handed it to me afterwards, to my surprise, and another leaned in close for an embrace as i dismounted the platform and said, “you look so free up there. keep being free.” i nodded and laughed in recognition and promised to keep being free.
on the last evening in august, i embarked on a solo-adventure to find the tycho sunrise. we rode out from 10 and G in a mass of glimmering bikes and art cars in silence. and when the discow finally began to glow in the distance, we each let out howls and yelps, the hairs on my body standing in attention. in the middle of the crowd, moments later, i met the greatest love of my existence. we hadn’t said a word to each other, just the crunching of our feet on dust and the almost imperceptible humming of a song we both recognized. our smiles turned into laughter, into a greeting, into an embrace, into a single tear escaping from the corner of my eye towards the corner of my lip. he wiped the tear from my face with such gentleness that i thought i would either combust or melt in an instant, both of which i was perfectly alright with.
they (being the people of reddit) said to give yourself three weeks after burning man to integrate and decompress. to not make any grandiose life decisions. so we waited. and in the waiting, we discovered everything about each other, like children in a playpen. we excavated and tried pressing various buttons to see what we could find.
and one day in september, this man flew to visit me. the reunion was equally as blissful as the first time we laid eyes on each other.
by the fall, we were in full swing. i was still integrating, still process, wondering how i could justify living in this matrix world when i had seen and felt and been so much on playa. but we had each other to remind ourselves of the inexplicable.
one day in october, we cancelled all our party plans and booked a home in joshua tree for the two of us. much like the sun takes a break from the sky in the fall and winter, we relished in the quiet humming of the wind against the small square home, another tear cascading down my cheekbone as i watched my moon rise through layers of pink and orange. i thought to myself, i must be dreaming. everything is (still) so perfect.
one evening in november, i gathered with my girl friends and remembered, briefly, how they had carried me that one evening in march when i had been unable to. and i thanked each of them, and i kissed them, and i thought, how sacred, how rare. how blessed i am to evolve alongside them, to bare my seasons to them and to continue to be held.
it is now december. we have begun fantasizing about and planning our 2024, but before we turn off the lights on 2023, i wanted to commit this to memory. i never quite knew how i would go about summing up one of the best adult years of my life, the last year of my 20’s, but it is now coming as naturally as it occurred.
one evening in december, i scroll through my calendar and recount each day of my year and thank the people, the places, the love, the growth that brought me here. i think about what is up ahead, more to come, everything new and different and unknown. i think about how utterly perfect this moment, and every moment that came before it, and every moment that comes now.
my cat talks in her sleep and readjusts herself, i am overcome with gratitude, i vow to not be so hard on myself next year (as i always do), i promise to do more of what i love and less of what sullies my soul. i allow the tears to come and wash over me because i am unrecognizable, because i am safe, because i finally receive the love i deserve.
love always, karen
LifeofKare 
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