don’t know how to begin this, my last post on my blog. (Edited to add: it wasn't.) When I started writing here four years ago I was in desperate need of an outlet, anything to help me process what we were going through. I loved retelling my stories here – when our car broke down for the fifth time that month, when I had to walk to the bus in the pouring rain in an orange jumpsuit,when I found out I was pregnant with Lu. The writing helped keep me sane and made me feel connected to the people and places I missed – it served me well.And now, it’s officially been two years since I left Chile.How is it possible that that much time has passed? How is it possible that it hasn’t been more?

I dressed in the vintage sweater I bought that November; it was like wearing an old memory. It hung too big on my frame and had seriously seen its best days long before it came into my possession but I loved it. And at ten dollars, I happily scooped it up, excited about our impending journey.I had worn it while we plucked the quail feathers for our wedding, sipping red wine out of coffee mugs in the backfield by the fading zinnias and carrots.

thought I’d go to sleep early tonight.So of course here I am at 11:15 reaching for an entirely unnecessary IPA while this hurricane rattles the trees outside my window.

It’s always been difficult for me to be present. Caught in daydreams, I’ve spent a good chunk of my life imagining what comes next – a different adventure, a change of scenery, the ideal life. All this distraction comes at a cost however and while constant change is good for the story, it’s oftentimes bad for the soul.