Last night I went to dinner with a friend in Capitol Hill, Seattle. It was the first time I’ve eaten inside a restaurant since Reykjavik, nearly a year and a half ago. The host wrote my name on a list with a red pen and my friend and I waited forty-five minutes for our seat. We clinked kombuchas, shared vegan cauliflower wings, and I had a vegan chicken sandwich and fries. I wore my Nooworks Mucci dress, a bright standout object that makes people smile, and gushed over all the dogs I saw (I want a dog!).
On my way to my friend’s house, in my car, I felt the intensity of what we’ve collectively navigated. A moment of pain and celebration unfolded within me, living among so many other moments in my particular day. I am going to a restaurant, I thought. I am going out.
I am so grateful to be going out, and yet I cannot celebrate; not while so many others are still suffering, not when so many have been lost, not when so much is still unsteady and unknown. But I can feel a pulsing hope in …
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