Recall (n.) to summon again

“In twenty years,” I asked myself, “how could I remind myself of this year?”

This was the year that Jill died. (That’s the first thing I thought.)

This was the year I learned to love running for miles all by myself.

This was the year I completed my third marathon, and my first one without my husband running beside me.

This was the year Carson got glasses.

This was the year I started doing fractional CFO work, which clicked something into place in my work.

This was the year divorce came close enough we could touch it – not in our own marriage, but in marriages of people important to us, people we love.

This was the year I bought rimless, round, colored glasses.

This was the year Katarina cut herself some wild, crooked bangs.

This was the year I made and ate an obsessive amount of pickled onions.

This was the year I got my little book tattoo on my wrist.

This was the year I broke records in my business’ monthly revenue, and also failed in my revenue goal for the year.

This was the year I started wearing bracelets.

This was the year Nico Hulkenburg finally, finally got a podium in F1.

This was the year we had our 10th wedding anniversary, and almost didn’t celebrate it at all.

This was the year I started working with Xtina, and flew to Georgia alone twice.

This was the year Carson and I found another local chef whose wine dinner we could attend. 

This was the year we talked about getting pregnant, and didn’t.

This was the year I chopped off my hair and let it return to its natural color after three years of growing it out and five years of coloring it.

This was the year I posted an unhinged amount on my Snapchat stories. 

This was the year that, judging from my blog posts, I became lowkey obsessed with memories.