London light and 2018

London at NightThe full moon illuminates my room, its edges softened by a thin layer of clouds. Moonlight isn’t as harsh here, as if it doesn’t want to startle me; it just wants me to think, meditate, reflect. Maybe, it wants me to dwell. I’m good at dwelling, overstaying my welcome in my own thoughts.

I leave the ceiling-to-floor-length curtains open. I’m getting up early enough that it’ll still be dark when I leave — the kind of darkness that wakes you up gently, distant lights nudging you into a new day. This past week in London was like that: nudging me to adventure on my own, do whatever I want to do.

It was the perfect way to end 2017 and enter 2018, capping a year of dramatic, somewhat daring changes and starting one in which I’ll continue adjusting to law school and exploring what I could do as a lawyer.

January is always a bizarre month for me: I try to be kind to myself and celebrate being alive and well. It’s a strange thing to celebrate, I suppose — like hey, girl, way to exist and shit. But existing is valiant work in and of itself. Two years ago Jan. 10, I was rushed to the ER and admitted to the hospital requiring blood transfusions.

Buckingham PalaceSo far this January, I was in London. I bought my books for my second semester of law school at the University of Iowa. I read three non-law-related books. I wrote some non-law-related words. It was cool.

I sprawl backwards with my head at the foot of my bed, following the path of the moon with tired eyes. I should go to bed. I need to be at the tube station by 5:40 tomorrow morning as it is.

But there’s the full moon, willing me to stay awake a little longer, dwell on what’s coming in 2018. The light is persistent, bright, a little pesky. I think I could learn something from it.

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