The Lost Year

We've passed the one year anniversary here at HiC, which means... clip show!

When we started out we felt a little silly, but then we got comfortable complaining. There was Cambodia story time and kibbutzim. There was more complaining and nostalgia. Then, DENGUE. We got a little judgy, and tried to make the weirdness funny, and succumbed to dramatics. Which infamously led to quitting, followed by planning!

Before the end of Asia, we learned something about evil, and loved Vietnam, and maybe felt some regret. We knew we'd miss Lara and the cats, Bri, Fi, Al, Suz, Luke and dearest Rabia.

Once home, we retreated into The Cave, flirted with career angst, sports (by the way, fuck you Baron) and politics, went off the deep end, and then: radio silence.

Six months and many untold stories later, we checked in and things were not so cheery. In the midst of the brain scramble we were disappointed, and a little pissed. Maybe we overshared, and tried to explain depression without sounding like some sad teenager's livejournal. Magically, thrillingly, life became good again, despite tragedy, and we felt joy. The sad-sackery receded and we looked forward.

So much of the last year has felt like passing through fire, a chemical peel of the soul, if you will. What's the right metaphor for this experience - a test, a rebirth, an excavation? I feel new. Once again, all the clichés are true!

There are so many mistakes I'll never make again. So much I didn't know, but now have proven. Pain and shittiness that is so crushing, once it recedes, feels a weird kind of good. Relief is euphoric, the best feeling, as regret is the worst. I said in Cambodia that I had jumped off a bridge, and maybe I jumped off the wrong one. But of course now I know that failure is freeing, and the leap is not scary.