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Six Years

Six Years

Fourth of July will always be a special holiday for me. Not just because I love fireworks and BBQ and patriotic fruit cakes, but because it marks the weekend on which I moved to San Francisco. Six years ago last weekend, I made the best decision of my life (so far, at least).

Let’s go places.

Let’s go places.

2012, was a year of movement. It was a year of exploration and realization. Last year was a year of pushing boundaries, testing limits, trying and failing and flailing and resurfacing stronger than before.

On being present.

On being present.

It seems to be this way every year — I wake up and it’s suddenly January. Christmas lights have been taken down, cinnamon candles snuffed out, gingerbread cookies meeting their fate at the bottom of a Glad bag. And the holiday season — my favorite season — has come and gone in a daze.

This life.

This life.

He picked me up at the bar I used to work at in Boulder. I sat in his gold Honda and as the heat blasted from the vents, I sighed. It was cold outside — the kind of cold that stings your legs.

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