P.S.

Sometimes, life ebbs and flows. The “yay”s have their time, and the “uh oh”s steadily creep in uninvited. Other times, though, life flies out of nowhere, lands on your windshield, and cracks it down the center.

Last week, I left home for Charlottesville. It was a misty morning, but with a synchronous class on the horizon, I put my trust in fog lights and the warmth of daybreak, then went on my way. I moved steadily through a thick haze, past blurry creek beds speckled with reds and

When someone asks, “How are you?” what do you say? Maybe you bare your soul, laying out your triumphs and trials to a perfect stranger. Maybe you brush past every mishap, replying with only the highlight of your day. Or, if you’re like me, perhaps you rely on an old standby. If “How are you?” is Pavlov, I am its dog. Over many years, my people-pleaser brain has trained me to err on the side of politeness, and avoid at all costs any action that might be overbearing. So, my response is simple

When I look back at my time with the Women’s Center, I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. After three years, the time seems to blur slightly. The things I do recall are fewer specific moments and more themes of constancy—unvarying inspiration, exploration, and vulnerability. 

I remember, after months of feeling lost and insecure as a first year, a phone call with Mary about my application to Iris. It was supposed to be an interview, and while I can’t pinpoint exactly

I have a tendency to think of change as something that happens to us rather than something we enact. And maybe that’s why I don’t like change—in fact, I fear it. For someone who grasps onto control with every last fiber of her anxiety-addled brain, the idea of embracing and, even worse, causing transformation does not come easily. 

The fact is, we all carry the capacity to fit change into our identity. New beginnings, new journeys, new transitions—they’re all inherently a part of what