A Year in Transit
If I turn 2025 into a list, it behaves nicely. It lines up. It performs. It looks like I had my life together. But years are sneaky like that. They cooperate only when you flatten them. In real time, 2025 was messy. It was me constantly packing and unpacking, not just bags but versions of myself. Different rooms, same questions. Different cities, same tired reflection in the mirror that asked, “Okay, but when do we stop running?” I spent most of this year being “on”. On stages, on panels, on trains, on deadlines, on WhatsApp calls that started with “quick thing” and never were. I spoke about systems, justice, youth, climate, mental health, futures. I spoke convincingly enough that people assumed I had it figured out. I did not. What I did have was momentum. And momentum is dangerous because it feels like purpose even when it is just inertia. There were days I felt deeply aligned, like I was exactly where I was supposed to be, doing work that mattered, surrounded by people w...